


Mother of Wolves

by cocoalover1956



Series: The Bastards of Winterfell [2]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: (She Does At First but Learns to Love Him), Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Catelyn Stark Doesn't Hate Jon Snow, Catelyn-Centric, F/M, Implied/Referenced Abortion, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Internalized Misogyny, Multi, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, POV Catelyn Stark, Slut Shaming
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-15
Updated: 2020-06-12
Packaged: 2020-06-28 15:28:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 36,181
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19815148
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cocoalover1956/pseuds/cocoalover1956
Summary: After the War of the Usurper, Catelyn Tully leaves her old life behind for her new one in Winterfell... with her bastard Robb Snow, son of the late Brandon Stark and nephew of her new husband Lord Eddard Stark. Confronted with her husband's own bastard son, Catelyn must learn to become a wolf, or die trying. Rewrite of 'Weary Mother'.





	1. 1

Brandon was suppose to marry her. That's why he had come to Riverrun, that's why she let him pull her into an empty bedchamber. They were suppose to marry each other in a week, it wouldn't have made a difference, and his hard, sweet lips had felt warm and wonderful on her mouth. He was to be her husband anyway, surely the Mother would forgive her for giving him her maidenhead a little early?

Catelyn placed a hand on her growing belly, the unmistakable sign of her condition, as her father glared at her. She was suppose to be the responsible one, his right hand until Edmure came of age, and she would have known better than to give herself up to any man before marriage, even her betrothed.

Brandon wasn't going to marry her, nor any woman. The morning after their sinful dance, he got the news that his little sister had vanished, gone off with Prince Rhaegar Targaryen, and by evening he and his companions were on their way to King's Landing to make the dragon prince answer for what he had done. "We'll be wed when I return," he had promised her. Now Brandon was dead, his father Rickard and all his friends and their fathers as well, burned like kindling by the madness of King Aerys.

The thought almost made her retch, though she'd been doing that often anyway. She was 3 moon-turns along with Brandon's child. His only child.

"I spent..." Hoster whispered, then paused. Catelyn almost wished he would scream at her; his anger was easier to bear than his disappointment. "I have spent many years cultivating alliances for the betterment of our family. All that effort, undone by the folly of my daughters."

Catelyn's voice wobbled, "If I lived to be a hundred years old, I couldn't never apologize enough for what I did."

He raised a hand signaling her to stop, his face as red as his hair, "You will speak only when spoken to!"

Catelyn shrunk back. She could not presume that she would receive the gentleness and trust she had always known, not when she had broken that trust and dishonored her family so terribly.

"Perhaps, if Ned Stark had been here when we got the news about Lord Rickard and Brandon, I might have married you to him on the spot," Hoster mused, "You'd need not tell him what happened between you and his brother, it wouldn't have mattered much who sired the child; I doubt you'd even know yourself."

The thought made Catelyn's insides twist uncomfortably.

He continued, "But that isn't the case, is it? The news of your pregnancy is too far spread to deny and when the Stark and Arryn men arrive tonight, it will surely spread further. You seem to want to ask me something. Speak then."

"Is there a way... do you know of any way to... to rid myself of this child? Is it too late?" Her mouth became as dry as the Dornish sands. Could she sacrifice this child, the only child her beloved Brandon would ever have, to save what remained of her pride?

Her father slumped in his seat and covered his face with his hands; and only know does Catelyn see the grey hairs against the red. Rebellious children bring their parents to an early grave, her septa used to say.

"There is, but I'll not have you do it." Hoster replied, sounding hoarse. "Lysa had done the same and I... I forced it on her. It nearly kill me to see her in so much pain, and then to know she hated me so. I cannot do that again. Don't ask me to do that to you, Cat."

Catelyn felt as though all the air had fled from her lungs. "Lysa? Our Lysa? She would never..." Oh dear gods, Lysa had been terribly ill last year and for some odd reason, their father wouldn't let Catelyn nurse her back to health. "Oh. With whom... did you know who the father was?"

"I practically raised him," Hoster growled. "It was Littlefinger. I didn't send him away because of you, I send him away because of her."

"Why would he fight a duel in my name and then lie with my sister. Was it revenge?"

"I know not what drove him, nor I do wish to know. It's done, child, and now you are my concern."

"What I am to do about Lord Eddard?"

"Pray that he believes you when you tell him the child is Brandon's."

* * *

Her father did not allow her to greet their guests or sit in the great hall during the welcoming feast - fearing an insult to the new Lord Stark if he should made to face the woman carrying his late brother's bastard - but she would not be able to hide forever. Lord Eddard asked for an audience with her on the third day of his stay and they met for the first time in her father's solar under Hoster Tully's anxious gaze.

After the usual pleasantries, Eddard asked, "May I feel it?"

Catelyn wasn't sure what he was asking, but she nodded in affirmation.

Eddard reached out his hand and placed it gently, though firmly, on her pregnant belly. His blank, cool expression shifted to something soft and warm, and for a moment Catelyn thought he might begin to weep. But he composed himself quickly and quietly thanked her.

They took their seats.

Hoster began, "I fear there is no hope for an easy peace at this stage. The king is deaf to reason, the crown prince is nowhere to be found, and too much blood has already been shed. If my lord sees fit, House Tully will bind itself to the rebel cause with the understanding that certain conditions be met."

Eddard's grey eyes flashed, "You seek to barter for favor while the realm is in chaos? While your own allies are not yet laid to rest and my sister is in danger?"

His blunt words made Catelyn flinch. She had known the northmen were plainspoken, but not to this degree.

Hoster kept calm, "I seek to ensure the well-being of my family in what ways I can, just as you do Lord Stark. I have spoken to Lord Arryn and he thinks it prudent to wed my younger daughter, Lady Lysa."

"She's a child, younger than my Lyanna," Eddard stiffened, "and Lord Jon is older than you."

"Lysa is nearly a woman grown and it is the best match either of them can make, given the circumstances," Hoster replied, unbothered. "I apologize for the fact that my elder daughter is no longer fit to fulfill the marriage contract I laid out with your father and older brother, gods rest their souls, but I need assurance of a continued friendship with House Stark."

"Then I'll marry her," Eddard stated impatiently.

The two Tullys stared at him for a moment, dumbstruck that he would be so willing to take a soiled woman. Hoster recovered faster than Catelyn, seizing on Eddard's clear desperation to stitch together an alliance and march south with Tully swords before the Mad King took his head. "Your plan is a good one, Lord Stark. You and Lady Catelyn shall wed alongside Lord Arryn and Lady Lysa."

* * *

The wedding she had been dreaming of since she was twelve never happened. She was not Brandon's bride, but his brother's, and the maiden cloak she had worked so diligently to make beautiful was an unfunny jape with her belly poking out of it. Brandon will never see her wear it. There was still no word on Lady Lyanna or any sign of a peace on the horizon. Concern about the war loomed over everyone's heads like grey clouds heralding a coming storm.

Catelyn and Lysa walked down the aisle together. None of the northmen present met her eyes, save Lord Eddard. In the corner of her eye, she saw Lysa trembling; with fear or with anger, Catelyn couldn't tell. The brides and bridegrooms said their vows in the sept and ate a lavish, though quiet, meal afterwards.

Catelyn spent a great deal of time looking at her husband and resisting the urge to cradle her belly. Lord Eddard was not as tall as his brother was, nor as handsome, nor as well-spoken. Her life would have been so much better if Brandon had been to one to put the direwolf cloak on her shoulders. They were unkind, unfair thoughts, especially from such a dishonorable woman as herself, but they keep coming all throughout the night.

The bedding ceremony went by in a blur, though she remembered the feeling of being stared at and the sound of crude japes. She was thrown into a room alone with Lord Eddard, both of them naked. It was awkward in a way it never had been with Brandon. She folded her arms over her midsection, wishing she could hide from him.

"I suppose now we do our duty." Lord Eddard approached her.

"I can't." Catelyn cried. Seeing the stunned look on his face, she scrambled for an explanation but none came to mind. She just couldn't bare the thought of him touching her as she grew heavy with his brother's bastard child. Or rather, she couldn't bare the shame. "I just can't." Her body felt bloated and she succumbed to the irresistible urge to weep. It didn't matter what she wanted. If he wish to do so, Lord Eddard could throw her onto the bed and take her anyway.

Instead he put on his robe. Catelyn half expected him to throw her from the room exposing her shame, but instead he covered her as well and cleaned away her tears with a handkerchief. "My lady..." He was at a loss for words, but the softness in his eyes showed his meaning well enough. For the first time, Catelyn's heart warmed for him.

* * *

Lord Stark and Lord Arryn gathered their strength at Riverrun for a fortnight. From Lysa's pale face and stiff demeanor each morning, Catelyn could also see that Lord Arryn was making sure to leave behind an heir before he marched into battle. It filled her with such disquiet, she began taking her breakfast in her chambers to avoid her sister's red-rimmed eyes. Part of it was also guilt; for all she wallowed in shame over her position, she knew Lysa was not much better off, but she didn't have to words to comfort her sister.

Whenever Eddard wasn't planning battle strategy with the other men, he would walk with her in the godswood in an awkward attempt to get to know her. She didn't think she loved him, but she felt something for him that she hoped could blossom into a comfortable companionship. Already, he showed her more consideration and respect that she believed he owed her. They talked about their childhoods, their likes and dislikes, and the differences between their homes.

They didn't talk about Brandon.

The last day before the combined Stark, Tully, and Arryn hosts planned to go to war, he said to her, "Should I not return... before the child is born, my lady, you have my leave to name it as you see fit."

"If it comes to that, gods forbid, rest assured I will chose a worthy name for the child," Catelyn replied with a small smile.

* * *

Ned, as her husband had told her to call him, wrote to her as frequently as his circumstances allowed, asking after her health and bringing news from the war-front. He spoke highly of his friend Robert Baratheon and expressed a desire to see her again. Hoster Tully wished for them to meet again so Winterfell would not slip into Benjen Stark's hands should his goodson fall in battle.

In the meantime, Catelyn's pregnancy continued. Edmure watched in wonder as her belly swelled while Lysa looked on with envy in her tear-filled eyes. For all Jon Arryn's efforts, Lysa's moonblood come as it always did.

"It's not fair." She lamented one day while they are doing needlework. "You and I are guilty of the same sin, so why is it that you were allowed to keep your child and I wasn't?"

Part of her wanted to tell Lysa of their father's guilt, but Catelyn didn't think Lysa would believe her. Besides, that was probably something Lord Tully would have to share with his younger daughter himself, when he felt the time was right. "You have your reputation. As far as anyone else knows, I'm the soiled daughter, not you."

"I'd rather have a babe." Lysa complained.

"And you will someday," Catelyn replied, her patience already wearing thin, "a trueborn son of House Arynn. Until then people will comfort you for the shame of having a slut for a sister. How fortunate for you, getting everything you want. "

Lysa looked wounded, "You're the one who got everything she wanted and everyone liked you better than me."

"Well now our positions are reversed, are they not?" Catelyn shut her mouth from fear she will say something cruel. Lysa has always been sensitive and she was being uncharitable. "It'll all be alright in the end, just wait a bit longer." She wasn't sure if she is speaking to Lysa or herself.

* * *

Her son came into the world screaming and red-faced, while Catelyn herself was so disorientated and exhausted from the birth she had to fight the urge to pass out before even holding her child. With his auburn hair and bright blue eyes, he resembled her entirely and not his father at all. She wasn't sure how she felt about that. She cradled the babe close as he nursed, almost forgetting that he is illegitimate, that she will have to leave him behind when her husband returned from war. Almost.

Hopefully her father would not feel too upset about having to raise the child in Riverrun and it might do Edmure good to have a small child to look after like a big brother. Edmure had fascinated with his nephew at first, but quickly grew bored when he learned that babes were not fit to play with, that they did little else but feed, sleep, and cry.

Months passed and Ned's letters became fewer and further between. A million different stories float around the Riverlands; about how Robert Baratheon vanquished Prince Rhaegar and spilled his lifeblood into the Trident; how Jaime Lannister soiled his white cloak by murdering the king; poor Princess Elia and her butchered babes. Though she knew she was safe behind Riverrun's walls, a good distance from the thick of the fighting, Catelyn couldn't shake off the worry that something would go horribly wrong and someone would hurt her son. Her love for him grew with each passing day and the though of being parted from him grew evermore unbearable.

'If I must,' she thought to herself, 'I will beg Ned to accept my child in Winterfell, at least until he is old enough to squire for Father or Uncle Brynden'.

In the end, the begging was not necessary. A raven arrived from King's Landing with a letter from Ned telling her that he was bringing Lyanna's bones to Winterfell and would be waiting for her to arrive with her babe. Catelyn kissed the letter and thanked the Mother Above for giving her such a kind husband.

Then felt horrible for not realizing the first time she read it that Lyanna, the poor sweet wild girl, was dead. Poor Ned, to lose his father and now two siblings one after another. She hoped, despite the shame they brought with them, she and her son could be a balm to the man who had treated her so well since they met.

* * *

Catelyn bid farewell to her family, to Riverrun. Her father had been reluctant to let her leave with her son, even with Ned's written consent, but Catelyn convinced him that she couldn't risk disobeying her husband when he made it clear he expected the child in Winterfell upon his arrival. With the babe wrapped up safely in her arms, she rode a liter to Winterfell with an escort of twenty armed men, servants, and the maester who had helped her during her son's birth, a little grey man named Luwin. The going was long and strenuous, but Catelyn reached Winterfell at last, a grey crown on a hill in the center of the North.

Her reception was as cold as the wind messing up her hair. Hard, scornful, judging glares met her at the gates. A sudden icy fear seized Catelyn. They will never accept me, she silently lamented, a foreign woman who dishonored their lord by bringing her bastard to be raised alongside their trueborn children. Did the northmen love him more or less because he was Brandon's son? Did they even believe he was Brandon's?

'I should not have brought him,' Catelyn worried, 'I should have left him with my father, where he would have been loved by more than just his mother.'

A gangly boy no older than sixteen ran up to her as she entered the Great Keep. "It is an honor to meet you, Lady Catelyn," he said with an open, innocent smile, "My name is Benjen Stark, I'm your goodbrother. It's wonderful to have you here."

Catelyn could almost kiss him, he was so sweet. "It's wonderful to meet you as well Benjen."

He peers at the bundle in her arms, "That's him, my nephew?"

"Yes, his name is Robb. Robb Snow. Would you like to hold him?"

Benjen was awkward holding the babe, but Catelyn showed him how to do it right. Footsteps interrupt the lesson.

"Lady Catelyn," Ned appeared in the hallway, looking both excited and nervous. It almost made her want to laugh. "I came as soon as I heard you were here."

He looked at Benjen holding Robb and smiled. "Have you already chosen a name for the child?"

"If it pleases you, my lord, I named him Robb Snow."

"A good name," Ned replied. "May I?"

Catelyn nodded and Benjen handed him the babe. Before Catelyn could show him the correct way to hold a babe, she noticed that her husband already knew, as if he had held a child recently. A large smile broke out across his face, the most intense and genuine look of happiness she had even seen from him. Catelyn's hopes rose.

He placed Robb back into her arms and said, "Let me show you to the nursery." His smile was replaced by apprehension. Catelyn couldn't guess why.

The nursery was close to the rooms Ned gave her as Lady of Winterfell so she would be near her son at all times. As they stepped inside, a short, dark woman covered herself with a cloth, rose from a chair and bowed her head to show respect to her betters. "M'lord, m'lady." She murmured respectfully. A babe whimpered in her arms, trying to turn its head to see what had interrupted its feeding.

"Catelyn, this is my son, Jon Snow."

* * *

The boys loved each other in an instant, her bastard and her husband's. The moment Wylla and Catelyn placed them in the cradle together, the bond became evident. Though they were cousins, Catelyn could already see that they would be more like brothers as they grew up. She watched the giggling children reach out to each other in the cradle, trying to ignore the stuttering of her heart whenever she looked at Jon Snow. He was all Stark, dark haired and grey-eyed with Ned's face.

Neither child would truly be accepted, but Jon, not Robb, would be loved by the North. Jon was undoubtedly of Stark blood.

Ned took her hand and led her from the nursery. It took several moments for her to look him straight in the face.

She should have known. Of course, he wouldn't have forgiven her for what she did. He could never abandon his brother's son, but he wouldn't accept her as a true wife. Catelyn wasn't naive enough to think he wouldn't seek comfort in the arms of another woman during the months spent dodging the Stranger, but why else would he bring his bastard son to raise in Winterfell unless he meant to shame her? Unless he wanted to punish her for not coming to his bed a willing maid? Did he what everyone to know for certain that he only married her for her father's swords? That he would have wanted nothing to do with her if his and his family's lives hadn't been on the line?

"My lady, I apologize for my actions," he said. "I have dishonored you, myself, and my vows in the sight of gods and men. For that I am more sorry than I can say."

He wouldn't have apologized if he didn't truly mean it, but Catelyn wondered if he knew what Jon Snow's presence in Winterfell meant for her. She was prepared to bear the shame of Robb's illegitimacy all her life, but she didn't need the whole Seven Kingdoms knowing her husband crawled into another woman's bed while she was pregnant.

What if no one believed any of her future children were trueborn, on account of Robb? What if the northmen found her trueborn sons lacking? They would not rally to the boy who claimed to be Brandon's son. They would turn to their lord's son. Her mind filled with frightful images of a grown Jon Snow seated on the throne of Winterfell and the faceless, bloody bodies of auburn haired children strewn at his feet.

"Are you truly?" Catelyn dared to asked, plainly struggling not to cry. "Why did you bring him here? Why did you let me bring Robb here? Everyone already hates me for having borne a bastard and you've given them leave to scorn me openly."

Ned explained. "When I found Lyanna, she already had one foot in the grave. As I held her, she died, and I realized that Benjen was the only family left to me. I believed - hoped - the gods sent Robb and Jon to soften the pain of losing my father, brother and sister. Bastardborn or not, they are of my blood. They are Starks, only not by name, and they belong in Winterfell as much as any of our trueborn children. My intention was not to add to your shame, but to keep my family together."

Catelyn's face flushed. She never considered that Ned wanted the children simply because they were of his blood. Men did not often care enough about their bastards to raise them personally. The only such man she knew of was Prince Oberyn Martell, with his brood of bastard girls. But this was not Dorne, and even for a Dornishmen Oberyn Martell was rather outrageous. Catelyn's heart climbed into her throat. He didn't need Jon Snow to be his family, not when she could give him another son, not when she was ready to fill his halls with treuborn children.

"I understand that Jon's presence causes you pain, regrettable as that may be," Ned continued, "but I could not leave him behind or in the care of others, no more than you could do to Robb."

Catelyn felt as if he'd slapped her. She knew it would be foolish to ask Ned to send his own bastard away, while letting her keep hers in his home, but she couldn't help but feel angry at him for making the comparison. Was this some sort of ploy or test?

"Do you wish that I return Robb to Riverrun?" she asked tentatively. "If I give up my bastard, will you send yours away?"

"I won't have either boy parted from me," Ned stated firmly. "And I am not so cruel that I would a tear a child from his mother's breast."

She searched her lord's grey eyes, but she didn't know what she looking for. The truth? A lie? A confession?

"What of Jon Snow's mother? Was she more willing to send her son away?" Catelyn demanded.

"I will say nothing of Jon's mother," Eddard stated in a tone that left no room for argument.

Catelyn bristled, because Ned had always been so honest and generous. "Did I not bare my shame to you in Riverrun? Why can you not do the same?" She felt almost petulant as she asked the question, but Catelyn was nearly in tears and she just wanted her life to make sense again. "Tell me, please."

"She is, she... Jon has no mother, not anymore," Eddard said at last, his voice teeming with anger and hurt. "She is gone forever and will not bother you, if that is your concern."

His weary, heartbroken face filled Catelyn with guilt. 'He loved her,' she realized. 'But he had to marry me. Now she's dead and all he has left of her is their son.'

"It's been a long day for all of us," Ned said after a moment of silence. "We should rest for now."

She knew he was right - Catelyn felt exhausted enough to sleep for a year - but she also knew she would not sleep easily in this unfamiliar castle with two bastards between her and the stranger she had married.


	2. 2

Catelyn and her new husband danced around each other in awkward silence for the next few days. She took her meals in her bedchamber; he left the nursery whenever she entered it. When he asked to see her, she claimed to be too tired. When she asked to see him, he claimed to be too busy. What a joke of a marriage. Everyday Catelyn resisted the growing urge to take Robb out of his cradle and ride back to Riverrun, but sense always stayed her hand.

At night Jon Snow's mother haunted her. Begging, mocking, crying, taunting Catelyn until dawn. Had she loved Ned as Catelyn had loved Brandon? Had she loved Jon as Catelyn loved Robb? The idea that she had anything in common with that woman made Catelyn want to scream. It reminded her that regardless of her noble blood, she was no better than any common girl who opened her legs in exchange for some kind words and a sweet smile. A whore. A fool. She would wake in the middle of the night, boneless and lightheaded, cursing herself for her foolishness, praying she could turn back time and stop herself from giving into Brandon's love.

The northmen did their best to make it known that she was unwelcome here. Many times Catelyn would enter a room and its occupants would immediately stop whispering. She didn't need much cleverness to know they were whispering about her. Many of the servants would not even look her in the eye. Catelyn's life had never looked so bleak, friendless and disgraced and exiled to barren, foreign land with only her son for comfort. But even then it was bittersweet because he was the reason for her pain. Sometimes she wished she had never given him birth; other times she could scarcely imagine life without him.

A month since her arrival, she found herself watching over the two babes herself after dismissing Jon's wetnurse. That poor girl had been dealing with their tantrums all day, and deserved to catch a few hours rest. Robb in particular loved to torment his caregivers. The children preferred to sleep together, but Catelyn thought it best to get them accustom to sleeping apart, so she had another cradle brought in for Robb. Catelyn sat in a corner sewing together cloth for a dress. After some time had passed and Catelyn almost forgotten the children, Jon began to fuss and cry like a tiny, mewling kitten.

'He's going to wake Robb,' Catelyn thought. The wetnurse had gone to sleep; Catelyn could fetch her and make her deal with Jon, or she could do it herself.

She hesitated a moment. In all her time at Winterfell, she had never touched Jon Snow. She didn't know what to do about him. If she acted as a mother to him, would he love her enough to keep from hurting her children? Or would the indulgence make him proud, believing that he ought to have a place in the line of succession? Did Ned even want her to do so, or did he want her to keep her distance from his child, so the only woman Jon knew as a mother was a dead woman he would never get the chance to meet?

Catelyn set down her needles and walked to Jon's cradle. She did not want to hold him, but leaving a crying child alone felt too cold. If her son were in this position, she'd want someone to comfort him. Catelyn's hands shook as she picked Jon up. 'He's just another baby,' she told herself. 'I'll just calm him down and be done with him'. She imagined a faceless woman cradling Robb, the ghost of another life where she was dead and Ned's secret love had become the Lady of Winterfell. A few moments of gentle rocking later, Jon had returned to sleep and Catelyn settled him down in his cradle.

She sat back down in her chair, but she didn't pick her needle and cloth.

* * *

It had to end. Catelyn needed her husband on her side, not only for her sanity, but for Robb's safety. She wasn't foolish enough to think he would ever love her, but the family disharmony could only harm her and her son. Their status in Winterfell was shaky enough. Her marriage remained unconsummated, which meant Ned could set her aside if he so chose. From what little she knew about him, he didn't seem inclined to do that, but Catelyn refused to take that chance. So she swallowed her fear and asked him to sup with her in the next night in her private chambers. He accepted.

Ned entered her chambers as though he felt like he were intruding, despite the fact that she had invited him. If she was honest with herself, Catelyn had half-expected him to skip the meal with some weak excuse, but he seemed to be as tired of the awkwardness as she was.

"Good evening my lord," Catelyn greeted him with a small smile. "You look well."

"As do you, my lady," Ned replied.

Their took their seats in the lady's solar. Though she had known for years that she would eventually become the Lady of Winterfell, she had yet to feel as though any piece of the castle belonged to her. As their meals were laid out before them, Ned looked suspicious when he noticed they were all his best-loved dishes.

"I asked Benjen for your favorites..." Catelyn blushed, wondering if she should have stayed silent. Had she overstepped? Did he think she was nosy or grasping? Catelyn felt as though she were dancing on rotten ice, about to fall into an icy lake. She didn't know what this man wanted from her, or what she could do to ensure a future for herself and her son.

Even her choice of hairstyle had caused her anxiety. Catelyn debated doing her hair in one of the styles she had seen the northern women wear, but she decided against it. Ned might take it as too blatant an attempt to appeal to him. She wasn't sure how Ned liked her hair; she wasn't even sure if he found her attractive. Did he prefer fair hair over red? Or brown eyes over blue? She hoped he liked her enough to consummate their marriage and sire a trueborn son upon her.

Ned seemed surprised, but pleased. "Thank you. That was very considerate."

Catelyn let out a quiet sigh of relief. When she was a girl, her septa trained in the ways of pleasing a husband; how to sing and dance and speak pleasantly and care for children. Nothing in her education had prepared her for wining over a lord after giving birth to his bastard nephew. "You're most welcome, my lord. I am your wife and only wish to make you happy."

He smiled at her, his expression shy and sweet, and the air around them felt lighter, less tense. Catelyn smiled back. Though she was still not entirely comfortable with Ned, she had gleaned enough information about him to guess that he would not intend to hurt her or Robb, at least not without reason. She simply had to ensure he found no reason. They ate their meal in an amiable silence. Ned did not appreciate idle talk, she had learned in haste, so she didn't press him to talk to her. She could not make him love her, but she could get him to like her, and that was enough.

When they had finished eating and the servants set aside their dishes, Catelyn decided to be bold. "Will you spend the night here?" she asked, trying not to give away how nervous she felt.

Ned flushed red from his bread to the tips of his ears. How Catelyn wished his mind were a book she could pry open and read! Surely he couldn't be embarrassed; he had lain with women before. Did he still see her as Brandon's woman? She had wed him; he had a right to her bed. Mayhaps he feared dealing with her tears, as he had on their wedding night. She felt ashamed of her conduct back in that room. What was she thinking, to sleep with her betrothed but deny her rightful husband? She should have stayed silent and let him have his pleasure.

"I would not be bothered if you wished to come to me tonight, or any night," Catelyn pushed, trying to make her tone as gentle as possible. "I will not shy from my duty as your wife."

It felt so strange asking her husband to come to her bed. Her septa had always taught her that men had a large appetite for women's flesh, and that her wifely duties were a chore she would have to endure whenever her husband willed. But Ned had never touched in that way, and she had no idea if he wanted to. She hoped he would not think her lusty for asking.

"Y-yes," he stammered, "It is only right that I honor our marriage."

The gods had loosed another weight from Catelyn's ankle.

* * *

As the days turned to weeks Catelyn settled into a routine at Winterfell. She carried out her duties as the castle's lady with her head high, though many of her new subjects did not look upon her with a friendly eye. Catelyn masked herself with grace and serenity, taking care to pass out tokens of kindness to those who would not offer her the same. She didn't need to do anything more to antagonize the northmen, even if she had Ned to defend her.

One morning, she overhead two servant girls laughing about her in the kitchens, calling her names she dared not repeat to anyone. She could not let this attitude fester. Were she in Riverrun she would have taken those girls by the ears and tossed them out of the castle herself, but here in the North she had to be more careful. Mayhaps she could deal with them quietly, but that might only invite more mutterings. No, she had to take this to her lord husband.

Ned's grey eyes hardened to shards of flint when she told him of what happened. He took her hand with remarkable gentleness and promised that such words would never again reach her ears. The next day Ned chastised the girls before the whole great hall and sent them outside the castle walls. For the first time since learning of Brandon's death, Catelyn felt safe. The northerners still disliked her, so Catelyn continued to offer them her benignity to stave off claims that their lord had wed a southron tyrant.

Mere days before Robb's first nameday, Maester Luwin confirmed to her that she was once more with child. Catelyn floated through clouds when she heard the news. Gone was the stain of bastardy, the terror of war, the uncertainty. She had claimed her place as Lady of Winterfell, despite the stumbling blocks in her path. The gods had blessed her with a husband that could see no shame in her, who sat her son upon his knee like a father would his own child. Ned met the news with joy. He would have his heir and Catelyn would have her honor returned to her.

It didn't take long for the rest of the castle to pick up on the fact that their lord and lady were expecting a child. All offered their congratulations, though many sounded halfhearted to Catelyn's ears. A sharp reminder that they had not forgiven her for bringing Robb into the world. When Catelyn had reached her fourth moon of pregnancy, Maester Luwin sent out ravens with the news that Winterfell would have an heir by the end of the year. She received polite well-wishes from King's Landing and the Eyrie and Storm's End. Her father wrote a long letter reminding her of her duty to her old house and her new. He finished by stating that he could find a place for Robb among his bannermen should Ned decide he was a threat to his trueborn children.

Catelyn sat up well into the night re-reading her father's letter. Although Ned had already stated that he wanted his nephew to remain in Winterfell, doubt crept into Catelyn's heart. Ned had shown her and Robb nothing but kindness, but all that could change once he held his trueborn son in his arms. All this time she had worried about what Jon's presence could mean for her and her children, but she never imagined Robb rising against his trueborn siblings. Were they not both bastards? Did they not have equal amounts of Stark blood? She had let her motherly affection blind her to the justified unease others felt toward her son. Surely Daena the Defiant never foresaw that her baby boy would bleed the realm dry when he came to manhood.

Not for the first time, Catelyn wondered how different things might be if she had not fallen pregnant. Would she have a trueborn child by now? Would Ned have refrained from laying with Jon's mother? Mayhaps the gods sensed that having Robb wouldn't be enough to keep her humble and had sent Jon as an additional punishment. Mayhaps she was to blame for Ned's wanderings.

She folded the letter and put it away. The night had stretched long enough and Catelyn needed to rest.

* * *

When Robb first stood up on his own and took a wobbling step forward, Catelyn's heart lurched at the realization that he was no longer an infant. Had so much time already passed? Soon he would running around the courtyard, riding his first horse, swinging his first sword. Still, she glowed with pride as he clumsily made his way toward her, arms outstretched to receive her love. When Robb reached her, Catelyn picked him up and covered his face with kisses.

Soon he was toddling all over the nursery, with Jon forever crawling after him. Several times Robb attempted to lift Jon onto his feet and help him walk, but Jon's chubby little legs were not yet strong enough to bear his weight. Catelyn watched them with a blurry, half-formed thought in the back of her head, a picture of the two children as men grown, riding side by side as brothers-in-arms. A third man joined them, his features shadowed, but a fierce Stark direwolf run proudly across his chest. How comforting that would be, Catelyn thought, to know her children and Ned's would never turn against each other in envy or disdain.

Could she achieve that? Could she ensure peace in the North and secure her grandchildren's place in Winterfell, by making sure the next generation of Starks loved each other too much to even consider fighting for their father's seat? The idea seemed too idealistic. All her life, she had been taught than bastards were wicked by nature and always envied their trueborn siblings their place. When she looked at Robb, teaching his cousin how to walk, she couldn't imagine him hating his half-siblings. She could curb any such impulse in him. And if she kept Jon under her close watch, mayhaps she could train him away from his bastard nature as well.

Two weeks passed before Catelyn mustered the courage to put her plan to action. After finishing her morning chores, she entered the nursery and placed Jon on her hip. 'He's just a baby,' she reminded herself. Part of her still feared what he could do to her family when he became a man, but she knew she had to put that fear aside if she wanted even a chance to succeed. Catelyn grasped Robb's free hand and walked with him by her side. The three of them left the nursery and made their way to godswood. She could feel the curious eyes of the castle inhabitants following her as she walked through the halls, out of the Great Keep and across the courtyard.

As they walked, a light dusting of snow rained down from thick, dark grey clouds. Catelyn shivered. Much too long ago, Brandon had warned her that snow came to the North in all seasons.

The godswood frightened Catelyn. In the south they worshiped their gods in septs, bright, gleaming halls with the image of the Seven engraved in gold and covered in gems. The northmen worshiped the nameless, faceless old gods of the forest, gods of river and stone and sky. Each castle in the North had a godswood, and each godswood had it's heart tree. The white giant with the red face carved into the trunk, and a thousand dark-red leaves like bloody hands. The eyes of the heart tree seemed alive as Catelyn knelt before it, both children in her arms. If the legends were true, this heart tree had kept its watch since long before Bran the Builder set the cornerstone of Winterfell into the earth. She had never felt so tiny as when she sat in its judgement.

"Robb, Jon," she told the children, though she knew they were too young to understand her words. "You are cousins, but gods willing you will grow up as brothers. My child with be a brother or sister to you both. For that reason, you must love each other. You must love my children. If you kept Lord Eddard's peace, you will always have a place in Winterfell."

She heard the sound of leaves crumbling underfoot. Behind her, Ned stood with a faint smile on his face, Benjen beside him with a look of amused curiosity.

* * *

Maester Luwin held concern that her babe was growing too much faster than was normal, so Catelyn entered her confinement a moon's turn earlier than she had with Robb. The choice turned out to be a prudent one, for she entered childbirth a moon's turn earlier as well. In Winterfell she did not have the comfort of familiar faces. The same midwife who had helped delivered Robb, had helped her mother delivery Edmure and her stillborn brother; she remained at Riverrun. Even in her most vulnerable moments Catelyn should not afford to show weakness in front of her husband's people. None of them believed she could birth and raise a Lord of Winterfell. She would prove them wrong.

At least Ned had faith in her. He grew warmer to her after she had embraced Jon. Ned Stark was a man of his word, that much she knew to be true, and he meant it when he said he just wanted his family to be together. Now that Catelyn knew he approved of her approach, she worked to build affection for his son. Loving Jon did not come naturally. It was matter of survival. Her love for Jon branched from her love for her children. She would raise him with the knowledge that he owed her trueborn sons his loyalty, that he was a bastard and had no right to Winterfell. And if the gods were just, Jon would quietly accept his place outside the line of succession. Just like Robb.

Catelyn labored a full day and night before she finally felt the child at last begin to emerge from her body. She pushed with all her might, forgetting the fear of death. 'Let him be healthy,' she prayed silently. 'Let him live and be healthy.'

"The head is out!" Maester Luwin announced. A shrill cry pierced the air. "There my lady, a daughter."

Even as exhausted as she was, Catelyn kept herself as poised as she could, removing the hair from her eyes as the midwife placed the babe in her arms. She was tiny and bald and pink. She was more beautiful than Catelyn had dared to imagine. Before she had long to admire her newborn child, her womb seized with pain again, knocking the breath from Catelyn's lungs. The midwife took her daughter from her as Catelyn contorted in agony.

"Please keep calm, my lady," Maester Luwin pleaded with her. "I see another babe. The gods have blessed you and your lord husband with twins."

Catelyn gathered herself, as the panic receded from her mind. She began pushing again, and only moments later she gave birth to her third child. Her heart rejoiced when Maester Luwin announced that she had delivered a son. A trueborn son! She had finally done right by her husband and family. Maybes her future was not as bleak as she had feared.

Maester Luwin placed the boy upon her breast. Like his sister he was small for a newborn, but strong and lively. He cried as loudly as Robb had when he was born. Catelyn commanded the midwife to give her back her daughter so that she could hold both her children in arms. In the meanwhile, Maester Luwin had sent one of the young servants to fetch Ned so that he could meet his children. Catelyn basked in the warm afterglow of childbirth. She had survived and brought forth two healthy children. The gods must have been pleased with her.

Ned burst in the room a moment later, eyes wide as if he could scarcely believe what he was seeing. Catelyn craned her neck to flash him a large smile.

"Twins?" he asked.

"A daughter and a son," Catelyn confirmed proudly.

He let out a nervous chuckle, "We shall certainly have our hands full with four children under the age of three."

"Indeed we shall," Catelyn nodded. She didn't miss the way he included Robb and Jon as their children.

Ned ordered that bells of Winterfell be rung to announce the birth of his children. Catelyn felt tears of relief slide town her cheeks as the ringing bells echoes throughout the castle and the surrounding hills. Now they would all know that she was a good wife. The same morning Catelyn had given birth, Maester Luwin scurried to his tower to deliver the news to all the great houses. House Stark had a hale heir and a little lady.

Catelyn wanted Northern names for them both. Without saying it, she and Ned both knew they were not ready to name a child for Ned's older brother. Mayhaps in the future there would be another Brandon Stark, but that wound had not yet closed. Instead they named the boy Edwyn, for the Spring King. She suggested naming their daughter for either Ned's sister or mother, but they settled on Lyrena, Rena for short.

In the days that followed, the twins' features settled in their more permanent form. They both had Ned's long face and tufts of thin dark hair on their heads. While Lyrena's eyes remained her mother's blue, Edwyn's changed to the same grey as his father's. More relief washed over Catelyn as she studied her babies. No one could accuse them of being bastards.

Between Robb, Jon, Lyrena, and Edwyn, Winterfell's nursery had never been so full, especially not since Catelyn hired two wetnurses to help her care of the children. To make accommodations better for the twins, Catelyn reluctantly ordered that Robb and Jon be given their own rooms in another part of the castle. Moreover, it would not look good to have the bastards sleeping with the trueborn children. Catelyn comforted herself with the thought that bastards grew faster than trueborn children, so it would not hurt the boys to be moved from the nursery so soon.

* * *

Lords and ladies from across the North came to Winterfell to congratulate Ned on the birth of his children and take a measure of his southron wife. They had been spent the better part of two years recovering from Robert's Rebellion and sorely wished for good news. Catelyn struggled not to give in to panic as she prepared for her guests. She had yet to truly enter the North's good graces and a single hair out of place could ruin her reputation further. Everything had to be perfect. The servants came to fear her; Ned and Benjen learned to avoid her.

Lord Cerwyn arrived first, with his pregnant wife and teenage daughter Jonelle in tow. Lord Mandery sent his eldest son Ser Wylis and daughter-in-law Leona Woolfield in his place, accompanied by Old Lord Locke. Lord Roose Bolton arrived with his pale, thin wife Bethany Ryswell and their young son Domeric. Lady Bolton informed them that her sister, Lady Barbary Dustin, had come down with a chill and couldn't give her congratulations in person. Tallhart, Hornwood, Mormont, Flint, Karstark and more flocked to Winterfell to meet their future lord, and even some men of the mountain clans arrived at their door.

If Catelyn had felt judged by the residents of Winterfell, it paled compared to the stress of hosting nearly the entire North. She could not show fear. She could not show vulnerability. Catelyn called up all the lessons her septa had drilled into her so she did not slip up in front her lord husband's vassals. Her vassals. Calm facade firmly in the place, she entertained the lords over dinner and spent her evenings talking to their wives and daughters. She endured the oblique insults to her person and her house with all the grace afforded to her. Sleep evaded her. One morning she burst into tears only a minute after waking up, horrified at the prospect of facing another day of this hell. In addition to all that, she had to carry out her normal duties as a lady, wife, and mother. She kept Robb and Jon shut away in their rooms from the very first day and not once did she dare visit them, even in the dead of night when she knew the entire castle was asleep.

Just when Catelyn feared she might collapse one day, the Cerwyns took their leave of Winterfell. Then the Mormonts, Manderlys, Locke, Tallharts. With each guest that left Catelyn's back straightened. The crushing fear of failure gradually lifted from her shoulders. When all the guests had left, Catelyn indulged herself by staying in bed a half the morning and she regretted it within moments of waking. Now they would all think she was lazy. She prepared herself quickly and rushed to her solar to resume her duties. In the long corridors of the Great Keep, she ran into Ned.

"Good morning my lord," she said to him, pausing to be cordial despite her rush.

"Lady Catelyn, are you well?" he asked her. "Should you not remain in bed a while longer?"

Catelyn blinked. "Why would I?"

"My lady, forgive me, but you do not look well," Ned explained. "You've been under so much stress from hosting my lords, in addition to caring for newborn twins."

"I am well," Catelyn insisted. In truth she was exhausted, but she couldn't afford to let anyone know. "Pardon me, but I have much to do."

Ned stopped her, "I have already instructed Vayon Poole to shoulder some of the burden until you've rested. Gods know you ran yourself into the ground these past few months."

"But-"

Catelyn fell silent when Ned placed his hand on her cheek. "I am worried about you Cat. You have done all anyone could ask of you, and I fear you will ruin your health if you attempt to do any more. Please get some rest," Ned begged her.

That was first time he had ever called her 'Cat'. She liked the way it fell from his lips. It surprised Catelyn that her lord husband worried about her. Mayhaps he was coming to care for her in some measure. Though she knew the stigma of giving birth to Robb would not fade from memory any time soon, she took comfort in the realization that she could lean upon Ned. He could have shunned her at Riverrun; he could have called her a liar for naming Robb his brother's son; he could have set her aside for a unsoiled bride once he no longer had any need of her lord father's swords. He had not.

"If you wish," Catelyn whispered. "Might I see Robb and Jon this evening? I've missed them."

"Of course," Ned removed his hand from her face. "I'm sure they long to see you as well."

Half-dazed, Catelyn bid her husband goodbye and returned to her rooms.


	3. 3

"I'm taking the black the next time the moon turns," Benjen announced one morning while they broke their fast in Ned's solar.

Catelyn looked up with her half-finished plate of eggs, aghast. She knew the Night's Watch to be a dumping ground for prisoners and convicts and exiles. Why would the son of a noble house volunteer to spent his life there, freezing on a hunk of ice surrounded by rapers and murderers?

Ned looked as surprised as she did. "Ben, why would you do that?"

"My reason are my own," Benjen replied, not meeting either of their eyes. "I needn't ask your permission, but I hope to have your blessing."

Catelyn frowned. "And what of your duty to your house? If you take the black you can never marry or father children."

"It's not as though you all have great need of me," Benjen answered with a thin-lipped smile. At the end of the table, Robb and Jon babbled to each other while they ate, unaware of and uninterested in what the adults had to say. "You've produced an heir, and I'm sure more will come. In the Watch, I'd be defending the realm from the dangers that lie beyond the Wall."

"I understand serving in the Night's Watch is a noble cause," Ned remarked, looking troubled, "but you are far too young. You are only now a man grown and green as summer at that. Take some time to experience life before you settle on such a choice."

Benjen's eyes flashed, "I'm old enough and I know what I want out of life. This isn't your choice. I can join with your leave or not."

Catelyn pursed her lips at Benjen's rudeness, but she left it to her husband to disciple his brother.

The day Benjen left for the Wall, Catelyn still struggled to understand why he had made that choice. Benjen had been one of the first people to meet Catelyn at Winterfell. In her eyes he was as much a part of it as the armory and kennels. She sometimes caught herself looking to his seat in the Great Hall, half-expecting to find him still seated there. The twins were only a few months old and wouldn't know to miss him, but Robb and Jon cried buckets upon realizing their favorite playmate was gone and wouldn't be coming back.

"Can't you make him stay Aunt Cat?" Jon pleaded. He'd taken to calling her that because Robb always referred to Ned as "Uncle Ned" when they were in private, and Catelyn found that it suited her well. Calling her "Lady Catelyn" would have been too formal, but "Mother" would have been too familiar.

She brushed the hair from his tear-streaked eyes and replied, "I'm sorry little one, but your uncle has made his choice and I cannot stop him. There now, it won't be so bad. He'll still write to from the Wall. And he'll always love you, no matter where he is."

In the days after Benjen's departure, Catelyn noticed a renewed chill in the eyes of the castle inhabitants. She could imagine they thought she was somehow responsible for it. That she had forced him out. When she gave birth to the twins and proved an accommodating hostess, Catelyn thought she had washed out the stain of having a bastard child, but the sober truth fast approached her. None would forget that she had birthed a bastard. And she wasn't as ready as she thought to bear that burden. Blame and judgement would follow her all her days, justified or not. What else could she do but endure it? She would rule beside her husband as Lady of Winterfell and raise it's next lord.

She grew with child again and gave birth to a girl not longer after Young Ned and Rena had reached their second nameday. Still in the childbed Catelyn searched her new daughter's face for Stark features, only to be disappointed upon finding that she had the same auburn hair and blue eyes as Catelyn herself. She would grow into a great beauty, but she wouldn't like like a Stark. Ned did not appear to mind. He held the babe with pride and named her Sansa. Benjen sent a letter of congratulations from the Wall once he got the news.

The children were all initially delighted by Sansa's birth, but twins quickly grew bored of her. It reminded Catelyn of how Edmure had reacted after she gave birth to Robb. Young Ned was annoyed by all the attention paid to this new member of the family, while Rena merely retreated to the maester's turret to pester Maester Luwin. They were too young to appreciate their little sister, but Robb saw Sansa as an amusement and spent hours entertaining her. Jon's reaction was...different. He started at Sansa as if she were a puzzle he could not understand. Eventually Catelyn set him aside and asked what troubled him.

"Is the baby my sister, or my cousin?" he asked.

"She's your half-sister," Catelyn answered immediately. "You share the same father, but have different mothers; Sansa is trueborn and you are not."

"Who is my mother?"

Catelyn resisted the urge to scowl. Even after all these years, Ned refused to tell her anything about his erstwhile lover. "I don't know anything about your mother, your father never told me."

"You said Robb was my cousin, but if he's Sansa's brother and I'm Sansa's brother, doesn't that mean he's my brother too?"

"Half-brother," Catelyn corrected. "Robb is Sansa's half-brother because I am their mother, but they have different fathers. Robb is your cousin because his father was your uncle Brandon." Jon looked hopelessly lost. "Don't worry, you'll understand when you're older."

"But you are still my aunt?"

"In truth I am your stepmother, for I am wed to your lord father, but you may continue calling me Aunt Cat."

Jon sighed dramatically, "Families are confusing!"

It took all of Catelyn's self-control to keep from bursting in peals of laughter.

By now Catelyn's life beat to a familiar rhythm and not even the arrival of a new babe could throw her off step. No longer did she fear disciplining her subjects, or grovel for friendship from the ladies of the North. They knew what to expected her and there was no use attempting to get more respect from them that they were willing to give. She knew the layout of the castle as well as she knew her own face. Only the godswood still made her skin prickle. She had not been back there since she took Robb and Jon before the heart tree. Ned took the children there to pray from time to time while Catelyn remained in her rooms praying to carved figurines of her gods.

One night, after they have lain together, Ned noticed the figurines resting on a small alter. Catelyn stiffened as he got out of his bed to study them more closely.

"Are these your gods?" he asked, his voice revealing both uncertainty and curiosity.

"They represent my gods," Catelyn explained. "There's no sept here, so I use these to pray."

"They're beautiful," Ned stated, though Catelyn knew he was only saying so for her benefit.

"I could built you a sept, here in Winterfell," Ned suggested.

Catelyn considered it. He offered such a kind gesture, but how it would it look to outsiders? She didn't want it to seem as though she had forced him hand, that she didn't respect the gods of the North and would raise their lord's children with foreign gods. Yet she longed to pray in a sept again. Maybe it would not cause too much trouble. After all, the Manderlys of White Harbor kept to the Seven and no one would doubt they were northern to the bone. Yes, so long as the children prayed to the old gods, Catelyn could keep to her own gods.

"I would be eternally grateful if you did, my lord," Catelyn told her husband.

Ned began making plans for the sept the next day. At Catelyn's own insistence, it was made small and modest, built in a corner of the castle sheltered by a grove of soldier pines. The faces of the Seven were engraved onto leaded glass, with a small marble alter at the feet of each one. A septon had been brought from White Harbor, though he spent most of his time tending to the library. Catelyn debated whether she would bring a septa to help teach her daughters to become proper ladies. For now she put that off for the future. The sept at Riverrun had been a vast hall shining with gems and precious metals, but the Catelyn thought the sept at Winterfell was ten times more beautiful, because it was hers and hers alone, a gift from her lord husband.

* * *

Winter came not long after Sansa's birth. As a girl Catelyn had not found the Stark words terribly impressive, but in the grip of a true northern winter she understood their severity. Winter is Coming. Snows piled high with alarming speed, nothing like the summer snows she had faced when she first arrived. The northmen may have been bred for the cold but Catelyn was a southron woman who until recently had never gone farther north than the Twins. Her rooms were the warmest in the castle, built over a natural hot spring such that the heated water warmed the castle walls like blood in the man's body. For that reason alone she could tolerate the winter. Catelyn dreaded leaving her chambers and she never went outside. Let the northmen laugh at her. She would survive a northern winter, but that did not mean she had to like it.

The late autumn had been a mad dash to collect and store as much food as possible, especially since the fields had been left untended for two years because of the war. But now there was nothing left to do but make it through winter. No farming, no hunting, no hawking; only maintaining the castle and trying to stay warm. And telling stories. Old Nan was the oldest woman in Winterfell, maybe in the entire North, and she seemed to have a dozen stories for each year she had lived. The children were enthralled by her, though Catelyn often wondered if such tales were appropriate for young ears.

After two dark, cold, quiet years, a white raven arrived in Maester Luwin's rookery heralding the return of spring. Not one week later, a black raven landed on the old man's carrying a message with words as dark as its wings. The ironborn had burned the Lannister fleet and declared they were not the subjects of King Robert Baratheon, that Balon Greyjoy was their one true king. Catelyn could not stop herself from shivering as Ned read the letter aloud. She thought back to the grisly tales she heard from the Mallisters one summer when she had accompanies her father to Seagard. The torture and terror, the razed villages and destroyed septs, the ever present fear of the sea and what it brought. The maidens carried off to be forced to lay with their captures, who would sooner take their own lives than live in such defilement.

King Robert called upon a loyal lords and knights to raise their banners against the ironborn in defense of his reign. Ned, Catelyn's shield from harsh judgement most of his subject felt toward her, had to leave her alone with the children, to risk death when his only heirs were little more than babes. Tears threatened to floor her eyes, but Catelyn maintained an outward mask of calm. Inside, panic filled every crevice of her mind and nightmares of Young Ned, Rena, and Sansa being denounced as bastards plagued her at night.

The morning the northern army was set to march from Winterfell, Catelyn shepherded the children into the Ned's chambers for a quiet, private goodbye. Her heart squeezed when he picked up Sansa, still half-asleep and cranky, and kissed her smooth, white brow. This might be the last time she ever saw her father, Catelyn mourned, and she wouldn't even know it. The twins were not old enough to understand what war was, but Robb and Jon were just about. The boys clung to Ned's furs, tears streaming down their pale little faces.

"You'll come back Father?" Jon sobbed, "You won't leave and never come back like Uncle Ben?"

"I will do all that is within my power to return," Ned promised the child, his voice rough with unshed tears, "Of that you can always be sure."

Catelyn's heart lurched. If Ned died, Jon would have nothing. No father, no mother, no name. How strange to think both she and this child were such similar positions, their lives built on the precarious perch that was Ned Stark's favor. At least Catelyn and her children could seek refuge in Riverrun if the North turned against Young Ned, but she doubted her father would find a place for Ned's bastard in his halls. She took her time tucking Jon into bed that night, to remind him that he was not as alone as he might fear.

Only a few weeks passed since Ned went off to war that Catelyn found herself with child again. She could not afford to be sentimental and wallow in the fear that this babe might grow up fatherless; she was the Lady of Winterfell when House Stark was at war. She had allies, namely Maester Luwin and Vayon Poole, but no friends. During Robert's Rebellion she had remained safe in her father's castle, her only occupations being to nurture Brandon's child and stay out of everyone's way while her uncle took command of the Riverlands. Now she had command of the North in Ned's absence, and she had to fill her husband's duties as well as her own.

Sad that it were the case, Catelyn neglected the children in this time. She did not love them any less, but the weight of her responsibilities were such that she would sooner shunt them off to nannies and nursemaids than be their mother. In truth, she had not even noticed the tendency until one evening, after she caught Robb sneaking into her chambers, and he asked, "Do you still love us?" Catelyn never forgot that blow, though she never mentioned it to anyone.

To everyone's immense relief, Greyjoy's Rebellion lasted only a few short months with few significant casualties on the part of those who stayed loyal to King Robert. The royal fleet smashed Lord Balon's forces and the king's men invaded the Iron Islands with little mercy. The final victory came at the Siege of Pyke. Many brave men distinguished themselves, as the ravens told, and Lord of Krakens had been forced the knee to the Iron Throne once more. Ned wrote her a letter from Pyke, saying that Robert had commanded him to take Balon Greyjoy's last surviving son back to Winterfell with him a ward. A hostage, really, though he did not say so. Catelyn disliked the idea, but the arrangement had already been made, and she could ill afford to offend the king by trying to refuse.

Nine moons along with her fifth children, Catelyn met her husband and his new ward at the gates of Winterfell. Theon Greyjoy was a quiet, sad, sullen boy. Catelyn could not begrudge him his misery. His lord father had disgraced himself and their house, and paid a terrible price for it. He lost two older brothers in the fighting, had been torn from his mother and sister, and would spend the rest of his childhood in a stranger's castle with a sword on his neck. No, Catelyn couldn't help but pity the poor wretch, even as he made it clear he wanted none of her pity.

Catelyn gave birth less than a fortnight after Ned returned, and they named their third daughter Arya for Ned's grandmother. She had the dark hair, grey eyes, and long face of the Starks, to Catelyn's delight.

* * *

Theon's first days at Winterfell were a trial for all involved. He would not stop saying that the ironmen never bowed to "greenlanders", that his father would storm the walls of Winterfell to save him and cut off Lord Stark's head as vengeance for the sons he had lost. Catelyn's patience for the boy wore thin as time went on. It was ground into dust when Robb and Jon came running to her one afternoon demanding to know if Theon had been right when he said they would be cast out of Winterfell for being bastards.

"He's a boy speaking in anger and grief," Ned remarked. "He doesn't understand the meaning of what he says."

"He understands well enough. You cannot let him speak that that way, least of all to our children," Catelyn argued.

Ned, in a move quite unexpected by both parties, leaned forward and kissed her forehead, "Mind the children, and I will deal with the Greyjoy boy. He is my responsibly, not yours."

Catelyn nodded as the warmth of Ned's kiss reached down into her fingertips.

Not long after that discussion, Ned received an invitation from Robert, stating that he planned to celebrate his victory over the Greyjoys and close the year with a grand tourney at Lannisport. When Ned gave the news to Catelyn, she insisted that he attend.

"You've only recently gotten me back. Are you so edger to be rid of me?" Ned joked.

Catelyn did not smile. "The king will take it as an insult if you do not go. You are a hero of the rebellion, should you not be proud of that?"

Ned looked uncomfortable, "I only did my duty to my king. Men ought not to seek praise for doing what needs to be done."

What was she to do with a man like that? "Robert's wishes are you duty, and he wishes for you to join him at Lannisport."

Ned laughed, "You take everything so seriously, Cat. Robert will grumble and complain if I don't come, but he will get over after he's had enough to drink. In any case, I miss being home too much to leave now."

They did not bring up the tourney again, until a raven from Bear Island informed them that House Mormont's lord, Jorah, had taken a Hightower girl to wife during the tourney. Ned thought well of Jorah. They had not been close, but Ned's father had only good things to say of the Mormonts. Jorah had distinguished himself so highly during the Siege of Pyke that King Robert himself granted him a knighthood on the bloodstain stones of the ruined castle.

A year after the wedding, Lord Jorah took his bride on a tour of the North, including Winterfell. Lady Lynesse was a slender wisp of a girl with golden hair and skin as smooth as cream, half her husband's age and barely out of girlhood. Her delicate, southron jewelry clashed with the thick wool gowns and furs she had taken to wearing since coming North. Catelyn's hearts reached for hers. Here, another southron lady married to the North, an outsider unaccustomed to their ways. Lynesse likely found the transition more difficult that Catelyn had, since Oldtown was further south than Riverrun and Bear Island further north than Winterfell. It made Catelyn feel much less lonely.

The second night the Mormonts stayed with them, Lynesse confessed her unhappiness to Catelyn in the privacy of Catelyn's chambers. Bear Island disappointed all her expectations. Having grown up in the luxury and decadence of the Reach's wealthiest port, she had never considered that other parts of the kingdom were not so fair. Bear Island, Lynesse complained, with a dreary, damp, cold prison with none of the comforts she was used to. Catelyn sighed internally. If only her greatest worry when she arrived at Winterfell was that there were be no singers to entertain her while she supped. Despite her annoyance, Catelyn gently told her that nothing was ever as bad as if seemed, and that one day she would grow used to the North. Lynesse did not appreciate the reply. Too late Catelyn realized she wanted an ally in her antipathy, not advice.

Lynesse did take a liking to Rena, if nothing else. She had a fondness for all children, but Rena was her clear favorite. The six year old thought Lynesse was the most beautiful creature she had ever laid eyes on. Each morning Lynesse brushed and braided Rena's hair in the Reacher fashion and Rena glowed with pride at how pretty she looked.

A few nights before the Mormonts had planned to return home, they supped with Catelyn and Ned in the lord's solar.

Lynesse asked, "My lord, your eldest daughter has been such a comfort to me. She's a delightful child, and reminds of my little niece, Margaery Tyrell. Jorah and I would love to foster her at Bear Island, if it pleases you."

Ned, surprised, replied, "You'll need to give us some time to consider it, Lady Lynesse."

Jorah appeared just as surprised, Catelyn noted, but she knew he longed to make his new wife happy, so she didn't worry that he would object.

"I dislike the idea of sending Rena away," Ned told Catelyn plainly that night when they were alone in Catelyn's chambers. "Lord Jorah is an honorable man and his wife appears to be very sweet, but I would miss her too much."

"Do not think I relish the thought of parting with my own daughter," Catelyn remarked, "but we must consider what is best for her and our family. You know the North has no love for me. Think of the consequences that will have when you are no longer there to protect us. We need to forge closer alliances with our vassels."

"We need not send Rena to Bear Island to strengthen out ties to House Mormont," Ned argued. "We could ask to foster one of Jorah's cousins instead. Gods know his aunt has more than enough daughters."

"And throw Lady Lynesse's offer back in her face? What do you think she will take that to mean?"

Ned sighed deeply, gathering his patience. "I don't know."

Catelyn rose from the vanity where she had been brushing her hair and sat next to her husband on the bed. "When I first came to Winterfell, you told me you only wanted your family near, that was why you had Jon and Robb brought to Winterfell despite the dishonor they would bring to both our names, because you feared losing what family remained to you. I understand that you shouldered many losses during the war, but times have changed."

His grey eyes turned misty with sadness. "I don't think you can understand," he said softly.

The words cut Catelyn like a blade, but she repressed her hurt. "You may be correct," she forced herself to continue in the same warm tone. "But times _have_ changed. Your closest friend sits the Iron Throne and with Greyjoy defeated no one else will think to challenge that. Your family is safer than it has been in many years, but it will not stay so if you do not take the steps to ensure your children are protected when you are gone. They need the love of your bannermen, they need alliances and good marriages." Catelyn found herself pleading now. "Do not think of it as sending them away; you are protecting them for the future."

"You are set on this," Ned stated, his tone wavering slightly. "Not just Rena, but all of them."

"Not all," Catelyn whispered, trying to ameliorate any worry he had. "But many of them, yes. My reputation makes them vulnerable. Can you be certain your lords will follow Young Ned, or will they doubt him because of me?"

Ned grimaced, and Catelyn knew she had him. Still, the confirmation that her actions had endangered her children quashed any satisfaction she might have felt from winning the argument.

"What did you have in mind?"

"I know your feelings about Lord Bolton-"

"Catelyn!"

"-but he is your most powerful bannerman! If he vouches for Young Ned, the rest would fall in line. Most of them, at least. It would only be a few years."

"And if a few years of fostering proved insufficient?" Ned challenged.

"Whatever your feelings for Lord Bolton, his son is a wonderful young man. A betrothal to Rena would work well for all parties."

Ned's eyes hardened to stone. "You've thought on this a great deal," he noted, his tone bearing a note of disgust.

Catelyn smothered her anger, "Yes, because I love our children. It is every mother's duty to ensure the best for her children, and I'm using the tools my father taught me to do so. I owe it to them. Before they were even born, I put their well-being in jeopardy when I dishonored myself. Let me do right by my children, my lord. I beg you."

"I..." Ned's eyes softened again. "Lord Bolton through?"

"Has he given you any reason to doubt him? He is intimidating and his house has a questionable reputation, but the man himself has been a leal vassal." Catelyn noted. "He served you well during Robert's Rebellion and against the Greyjoys, did he not? He has kept the king's peace and paid his fair due. And if there is legitimate concern over his loyalty, would it not be better to bind him to your son in affection? Before he was tempted to act on his worst inclinations? Lord Arryn loved you and Robert as through you two were his own blood. Robert could not have won the throne without Arryn banners, and Lord Arryn would not have backed your cause had your fathers not fostered you with him."

Ned had run out of objections. "I ought to know better than to argue with a Tully. Had you any other ideas for where to send our children?"

More confident now, Catelyn explained. "Lord Manderly has two granddaughters near in age to our girls, a little older maybe. I'm sure he'd be happy if Sansa or Arya were to keep them company. One of my father's vassals would take the other girl, perhaps Mallister or Piper. I'm less certain for Robb and Jon. It would look suspicious if we kept them in Winterfell with us while the other children were elsewhere, but I don't want to risk offending anyone by asking them to take illegitimate children. My uncle might be willing to take Robb as a squire, and he'd get to spent time with my sister and her son. But Jon...I'm at lost as to what we should do about Jon."

"I do not think we should foster Jon," Ned blurted out.

How could one man be so frustrating?! How could he not see what message that would send to the North, to kingdom? Maybe he did see. The idea that Ned loved his bastard more than her and more than his children by her pained her in ways she had not expected. In the years they had spent together, she had grown to love him without noticing it. She hadn't known how much she wanted his love - not his favor, his love - until he said that.

The gods fancied toying with men and women, an old knight at Riverrun had once warned her. At the time Catelyn had disagreed, but she had grown wiser since then. Her entire adult life turned into a series of bizarre, unexpected circumstances. She had borne a man's bastard, then married his brother. She was raising her husband's bastard as if he belonged to her, when any sane woman would have cursed his every breath. The whole situation was so awkward.

Ned had married her for an army, but he couldn't love her. He had loved Jon's mother, and likely still mourned her. Catelyn's heart turned to lead. She couldn't compete with a dead woman. Whatever flaws Jon's mother had would have been erased by grief and longing. But Catelyn was a living woman; Ned bore witness to her weaknesses and shortcomings every day. Worse, he probably thought she still wanted his brother. There was too much between them, too many ghosts, for them to be joined in love like the knights and maidens in the songs she had loved so much as a girl.

When she got the news of Brandon's death, Catelyn saw her dreams of love crumple to ash. Now, after years of thinking all that was behind her, the same hopeless feeling struck her once more.

"No," Ned shook his head. "Forgive me, that was foolish notion. I will think of something for Jon. Do not underestimate the love my vassals have for me. I am not friendless, and I'm certain I can find someone to foster him. You are right. Jon can inherit nothing from me and I will not always be there to protect him. He'll need friends and supporters, beyond just his brother."

A small measure of relief soothed some of the hurt. It had been a mere slip, he did not mean to slight her, and he agreed with her plans. Now all that remained to be dealt with was the troubling revelation that she was in love with her husband.


	4. 4

The morning Rena left for Bear Island dawned bright blue and clear, the taste of early spring heavy in the air. Young Ned raged at being separated from his twin, but Catelyn had already been through this with Robb and Jon after Benjen joined the Watch, so she knew what to do to calm him down. The older children had been dealt with separation before and had an easier time accepting it. Sansa, though, could not yet understand what it meant that Rena would be gone for five years; it was longer than she had been alive!

Soon after news of Rena's fostering became common knowledge, the Winterfell rookery received an influx of letters, both indirectly suggesting and outright asking for fosterings to take place between their houses. After their initial discussion, Ned joined Catelyn in making plans for the children's future. Catelyn had been raised as her father's heir until Edmure's birth, and so had an uncommon knowledge of diplomacy. By contrast, no one had expected Ned to succeed his father as the Lord of Winterfell and in some ways he lacked Catelyn's political insight. But Ned knew the North better than Catelyn.

After days of discussion, Catelyn eventually conceded that Lord Bolton would likely not be the wisest choice of foster parent for their heir. A younger child, perhaps, since he was still a powerful lord and one they could not afford to slight, but not the heir. Roose Bolton had given them no sign of disloyalty, but also no sign that he loved them. A fostering required trust, and Ned had little for the Lord of the Dreadfort.

He did trust the Karstarks, though. Rickard Karstark, Lord of Karhold, had jumped at the chance to fight by Ned's side, during both Robert's Rebellion and the Greyjoy Rebellion. Though the Boltons were more powerful, the Karstarks were closer kin to the Starks. Those two houses had nearly as fierce a rivalry as the Starks and Boltons, Ned informed Catelyn, and a fostering with either one would slight the other. At least if they fostered Young Ned at Karhold, it would appear to bring him closer to his Stark roots. That also meant Lord Rickard would no doubt expect a betrothal between Young Ned and his daughter Alys. It was for the best though. Young Ned needed a northern bride, and the Boltons couldn't provide that.

Young Ned's fostering, however, necessitated that Robb and Jon leave Winterfell. When Ned suggested that he foster Jon with his old friend, Howland Reed, Catelyn felt oddly disappointed. Jon was of no use to them hidden away in a swamp. The fosterings had to bring some advantage, Catelyn reminded him. In response Ned made a suggestion that she seriously considered: sending Jon to White Harbor ahead of Sansa or Arya. At White Harbor Jon could become a knight and maybe even serve as his half-sister's sword sword in the future. Catelyn did not doubt the validity of this plan, but years of scorn made her sensitive to rejection or criticism. She worried that the Manderlys would take offense and somehow blame her. Ned assured Catelyn he would not mention her in his letter to Lord Wyman, and make it sound as though it were all his idea.

In the meanwhile, Catelyn received a reply back from her uncle in the Vale, saying he'd be happy to take Robb on as his squire. Her stomach tightened as she read it. All three of her boys would be leaving her, and Robb would be the first. She remembered a time when Robb was her whole world, a tiny creature loved by her and her alone. Soon he would be a man grown, making his way in the world without her.

One quiet evening the family sat by the blazing fire, telling stories about their day and enjoying each other's company. Catelyn embroidered a shawl while Sansa practiced her needlework on a handkerchief. The boys, all proudly sporting bruises from the training yard, sat on the rug telling their her and Ned about their progress at arms. Young Ned rested his head in Jon's lap, while Robb sat at his uncle's feet. Ned held Arya in his arms, listening to his boys and making the appropriate comments and inquiries every so often.

More than once, Catelyn found herself distracted by her husband. His easy manner with the babe, the caring attention he paid to the children. She felt safe when he was near, and found his demeanor both comforting and endearing. He might not have been as tall or handsome as Brandon, but such things matter less and less to her as she aged. Catelyn could scarcely believe she had once feared him. It seemed plain as day to her now that he was a man of honor, truth, and mercy, more so even than many men she knew in the south.

These musings pained her immensely, because she knew he did not hold her in as high esteem as she did him. How could he, what she was stained with an out-of-wedlock birth? He had married her for the sake of his house and get along with her for the sake of their children, but theirs was not a union between equals. And besides, she was certain he still longed for his dead lover, the mother of his bastard son. Ned never spoke of her, not even to Jon, for even after all these years it pained him still. It felt so unfair that she had married a man whom she loved but could not be loved by, that she would always remain in the shadow of some ghost.

Sometimes it made her resent Jon. So long as Ned kept him around, he'd always have a reminder of his lover. She did her best to quash those feelings. After all, Ned had more than tolerated Robb's presence when most men would not bother with their brother's bastard child, especially one borne by his own wife. Seeing the tender affection Ned held for Robb reminded her to remain kind to Jon.

Maester Luwin interrupted the cozy scene with news of a raven from Karhold. Lord Rickard was to arrive with his sons and daughter within a fortnight, far earlier than they had planned.

The Karstark visit sent Catelyn into one of her normal fits of perfectionism. She no longer felt the crushing need to impress her own staff, but a noble house was another matter altogether, especially with so much at stake. Robb and Jon knew to make themselves scarce, while Edwyn and Sansa put on their best manners, but Theon Greyjoy resisted Catelyn's strict regime. More than once she cursed the fact that she couldn't just throw him out of Winterfell. King Robert still needed assurance of Lord Balon's obedience.

When the Karstark party reached Winterfell, the visit went as well as Catelyn expected. Lord Rickard was a tall, burly man with long black hair streaked with grey and a stern expression in his narrow face. His children all resembled him greatly: dark hair framing narrow faces and blue-grey eyes. Catelyn did not remember much about Lord Rickard from the visit following the twins' birth; she had been so concerned about maintaining a respectable appearance that she had hardly paid attention to her guests themselves. His sons were much bigger and taller than she remembered. Alys, his only daughter, had not yet been born. Her friendly, energetic spirit endeared her to Catelyn and Ned. At the welcoming feast she had gladly danced with Young Ned and both his half-brothers, which Catelyn chose to take as a promising sign.

Lord Rickard had a polite, respectful disposition, but in her careful observations Catelyn caught an underlying ruthlessness in the man that she had missed the first time she met him. Such ruthlessness might serve them well if they had a guarantee of Lord Rickard's loyalty, but could prove dangerous should conflict arise between them. Catelyn noted she ought not to trust Lord Rickard too much.

Before the Karstark visit ended, Robb and Jon were on their way to White Harbor; Robb on the path to meet his great-uncle in the Vale, Jon with plans to stay in the Merman's Court. And like his twin sister before him, Young Ned left Winterfell with their guests. Though she had anticipated it, Catelyn keenly felt the sting of Winterfell's emptiness after the four eldest had gone.

Ned noticed her brooding and came to her chambers one night to talk to her. He caught her sitting by her vanity brushing her hair. "Are you well, my lady?"

"I am," Catelyn answered reflexively, though she truly wasn't. It surprised her than Ned had come to her just to ask how she was. Ned did not look satisfied with her answer and took a chair to sit beside her.

"You do not appear to be your usual self. If anything troubles you, you may tell me," Ned said softly. He did not have the easy way with words that Brandon had, but the sincerity in his tone was unmistakable.

Catelyn flushed under her husband's attention. "I miss the children, that's all. I know it's for the best, that they needed to leave, but it's still difficult to not have them here."

"I feel the same," Ned gently took her hand, "But we must not let it trouble us much. As you said, the children will benefit from being fostered. Robb and Jon will earn knighthoods, and Young Ned will learn what it means to be a northern lord. Rena adores Lady Mormont. You still have the Sansa and Arya...and me."

Against her better judgement, Catelyn thought she saw real love in Ned's eyes. Despite everything, their bastards and lost lovers, she wanted so badly to kiss him. To kiss until her breath ran out. Everything else seemed to melt away as all Catelyn's attention was fixed in Ned's face, his eyes and lips and voice. What harm could it do? If he didn't feel the same, she wouldn't be disappointed. She had no expectations.

His lips were soft and warm against her own as she kissed him. Ned stiffened at first, but he soon melted into the kiss. He took her in his arms, his arms tight around her waist. The world came back into sharp focus as the full weight of what was happening hit. Did Ned love her? Was the unthinkable possible? When they pulled apart, they were as breathless and shy and giddy as new lovers. Ned seemed to have younger in that instant. His lips in a timid smile, his grey eyes as soft as fog. Oh, he did. It was.

When Catelyn found her voice, she confessed, "I am fortunate to have married you. You are a better husband that I could have dreamed."

His ears turned the most endearing shade pink, "And are the most wonderful wife a man could ask for."

Catelyn threw her arms around his strong neck, overjoyed. Perhaps the gods saw fit to show her pity at last.

Catelyn and Ned's love bloomed like a flower at the first brush of spring. During the first years of their marriage they had developed a serviceable partnership. It didn't take much for them to transition to being lovers. Falling in love with Ned was like putting on an old favorite coat and letting its warmth envelop her. It was like setting out to build a house and finding it already half-complete. Ned opened up her more, she to him. When he confessed that he thought her auburn hair was the beautiful he had ever seen, Catelyn remembered how she once fretted if he thought her attractive. That seemed like a thousand years ago. Those two strangers, so unsure and suspicious of each other, couldn't possibly be her and Ned.

She welcomed him into her bed more often now, both for children and for pleasure. When Arya was a year old Catelyn gave birth to another son. Enough time had passed for grief to become nostalgia, for the wound of Brandon's death to close and heal. Catelyn and Ned felt secure enough in their marriage to name their second trueborn son after him. They had, after all, raised Brandon's son together for eight years. Just under a year after Bran's birth, Catelyn produced another child, a boy she and Ned named Rickon.

During her recent pregnancies Ned doted on her. He had always kind but now, with the assurance that she cared for him, he constantly fussed over her comfort. She grew accustomed to his kisses, his worries, his fascination with her hair. When their vassels came to Winterfell, all the esteem Ned had for her was plain for all to see. And for the first Catelyn felt as though she was truly his wife, the Lady of Winterfell. Not some pretender half hiding her face in shame.

Maester Luwin warned her against getting pregnant again for another few years. It was not safe to birth three children in as many years and her body needed time to heal. Though Catelyn heeded his words of caution, she still glowed from her success. She had more than secured House Stark's future with her two youngest children. Like Robb and Sansa, Bran favored his Tully kin in appearance: auburn hair, blue eyes, high cheekbones. Rickon had auburn hair and grey eyes, with an even mix of Ned and Catelyn's faces.

Rena, Young Ned, Robb, and Jon all briefly visited Winterfell to meet their new brothers and spend time with their younger sisters before they had to leave again. Once more Catelyn felt the sting of their departures. She began writing more frequently to her scattered children.

Robb wrote long praises to his great-uncle, often filling the page with stories the Blackfish had told him that Catelyn already knew by heart. Despite her worries that Robb would be ostracized for his bastard birth, he had become close friends with the Redfort brothers and Domeric Bolton, who was their father's ward. The only sour drop was Lysa, who wanted nothing to do with her bastard nephew.

Jon loved White Harbor and his training as a knight. His Stark blood mattered more than his bastard birth, allowing him a place of respect in the Merman's Court. The other Manderly squires took no mercy on him in the training yard, but he said it would only serve to make a better warrior. Though the Manderlys worshiped the Seven, they kept a godswood, which Jon wrote was his favorite place in White Harbor.

Young Ned's letters from Karhold were brief, blunt, and unemotional. Lord Rickard was as stern as he seemed and his sons were rougher than Catelyn had anticipated, but she told herself Young Ned would need to be a hardened man if he was to lead the North someday. More encouraging were his writing of Alys Karstark, whom he got along with very well.

Only three years of Rena's fostering had passed when the North suffered a blow none of them had anticipated. Jorah Mormont had been caught attempting to sell some poachers to a passing Tyroshi slaver. Ned raced across the Wolfswood and the Bay of Ice, but by the time he arrived, Jorah and Lynesse had fled. He found Maege Mormont, Jorah's aunt, in charge of the island. She denied any involvement in her nephew's crimes, and told Ned that she reported Jorah as soon as she caught wind of them. The She-Bear added that Lynesse had drowned House Mormont in debt, demanding jewels and Myrish carpets and singers for her own amusement, and exotic little trinkets to shower on Rena. Ned announced that he would take his daughter home with him, to the humiliation and dismay of the entire Mormont family. After father and daughter returned to Winterfell, Catelyn enveloped her eldest daughter in a tight hug.

That night, as she brushed Rena's dark hair before bed, Catelyn said, "I'm sorry you had to go through that, Rena. Your father and I truly thought Lord Jorah and Lady Lynesse were good people. Were they unkind to you?"

Rena replied, "No Mother. Lord Jorah did not have much interest in me, but Lady Lynesse doted on me like I was her own daughter."

"Do you understand why your father has to bring them to justice?"

"Slavery is an abomination in the eyes of gods and men," Rena answered with grim understanding in her voice.

"Yes. Your father is the Warden of the North, and therefore he has a duty to uphold the king's justice."

"Does he have to kill Lord Jorah and Lady Lynesse? I know they did something bad, but they're not cruel. Can't they be punished in some other way?"

Catelyn sighed. "It matters not how much you liked them. They've dishonored themselves, their houses, and the North. They broke the law and must be punished as the law demands. And they will be, if they ever show their faces in the Seven Kingdoms again."

"Is that why I had to leave Bear Island? I liked it there. Couldn't Lady Maege have fostered me? She hasn't done anything wrong and her daughters were all friendly to me. Can't I go back?"

"Think of how it would look like to the other houses." Catelyn lectured. She finished her daughter's hair and leaned against a small table beside the vanity. "One person's dishonor touches the whole family. What Lord Jorah did reflects poorly on Lady Maege and her daughters. Fostering the child of a great lord is a high honor. The other lords will wonder why your father would allow you to stay on Bear Island despite the scandal, rather than foster you with one of them, and it will make them jealous."

Rena furrowed her brow, deep in thought. After a moment, she asked, "What about our dishonor, Mother? You and father both had bastards. Does that mean I am tainted too? And Young Ned and Sansa and Arya and Bran and Rickon?"

The words sent an arrow into Catelyn's chest. Tears pricked at the edges of her eyes. "Yes," she chocked. "No. I mean, you and the younger children are blameless. You were not yet born when it happened, but people do look at you differently because of what we did."

"If House Mormont is dishonored, and our house is dishonored too, why can't I return to Bear Island?" Rena argued.

"Because your father and I have worked too hard to restore House Stark to throw it away," Catelyn stated in a tone that bore to room for contradiction. "We cannot let Lord Jorah's crime taint our family like it did his. Your father cannot let his vassels think that wrongdoing comes without consequences."

Rena pouted, but did not say anything more.

House Mormont's disgrace had a curious effect on Catelyn's reputation. As Catelyn and Lynesse were the only southron ladies who had married into the North in recent memory, people couldn't help but compare them. Lady Catelyn may have been soiled, she heard it whispered, but she remained faithful to her lord husband and gave him six trueborn children in less than a decade. Lady Lynesse, though a maiden at her wedding, had brought her husband to ruin and hadn't even provided him with an heir to make up for it. Catelyn felt uneasy receiving praise at another's expense, but Lynesse Hightower had brought her fate onto herself. She doesn't deserve my defense, Catelyn thought.

As her nephew approached his second nameday, Catelyn decided to visit her sister at last. She longed to see Lysa and wished for her children to know their cousin. Ned could not come with her, for he had plans to go to Torrhen's Square to settle a dispute between the Tallharts and their vassels, but told her to give Jon Arryn his warm regards. Catelyn knew he loved that man like a second father, so she promised she would. She loathed to part with her husband, but she had been separated from her sister for too long.

She and her children first stopped at White Harbor, both to visit Jon and catch a ship to Gulltown. The girls were happy to see their half-brother again. Especially Sansa, who was over the moon at thought that her half-brother would one day be a knight. Bran and Rickon were meeting him for the first time since they were babes, but they took to him instantly. Catelyn tried to be restrained with her affection toward Jon in public, but there was little hiding how much she had missed him. The Manderlys, especially Lady Leona, looked at her strangely after that, to Catelyn's embarrassment.

After Lord Wyman had feasted them, Catelyn and her children took their leave of White Harbor. Sansa and Arya were ecstatic to leave the North for the first time, though Rena was rather peevish about it. Bran was eager for the journey as well, until he got on the ship and became violently greensick. How ironic that a boy who loved nothing more than to climb to dizzying heights could not bear the gentle rocking of the waves. He mostly stayed below deck with Catelyn and Rickon. Because Rickon was so young, she wanted to keep him away from the harsh sea air.

When they arrived in Gulltown, a familiar face greeted them at the docks. Catelyn's heart gave a start when Petyr Baelish came to escort her and her children from the ship. She had not seen him in years, not since his ill-fated duel with Brandon. He wrote her a letter after her father had banished him from Riverrun, but she burned it without reading it.

"You look well," Catelyn greeted, trying not to sound as stiff as she felt. A dozen questions whirled around in her head. Did he know about his child, the one her father had gotten rid of? Was he still in love with her? Had he ever truly been in love with Lysa? Had he spoken to Lysa in all those years?

"As do you, my lady," Petyr replied with a graceful bow, seemingly unchanged from their youth. He regarded her fondly, but something dark clouded his grey-green eyes when he looked at her children. It sent a shiver up her spine. "Such lovely sons and daughters you have."

She thanked him shortly and introduced him to them. Never could she have imagined a meeting with her girlhood friend could be so awkward. "I did not expect to see you."

"I'm afraid I hadn't found the time to write," Petyr smiled innocently. "Lord Arryn saw fit to give me control of customs a few years ago, and I've worked to the bone every since."

"You've done well for yourself," Catelyn remarked neutrally.

He shrugged, "It's not what my father envisioned for me, but I'm grateful for it. Enough idle talk, Lord Arryn has charged you to my keeping and I must get you all up to the Eyrie as quickly as the gods permit."

Lord Grafton hosted them in his holdfast for the night, then they were off to the Eyrie with Petyr as their guide. They traveled along a well-kept road through the valleys. Rena insisted on riding a horse the whole way. She was ten years old now and growing more independent by the day. Sansa was eight, Arya five, Bran four, and Rickon only three, so they stayed with Catelyn in a small wheelhouse. Petyr had a sweet-tempered gelding to ride, but he spent most of the trip in the wheelhouse despite the tight fit.

When they reached Redfort, they stayed a while with Lord Horton. He had four sons who were all several years older than her children. Domeric Bolton had recently arrived as Lord Horton's ward and was still finding his place in the Vale. Catelyn remembered him dimly from when he and his parents had visited Winterfell after the twins' birth. He had only been three years old then; now he was a comely young lad of thirteen. Rena could not keep her eyes off him. Before they left the next morning, Domeric timidly asked Catelyn for permission to write to Rena when she returned to Winterfell. Cautiously, Catelyn permitted it.

A few days later they found their way onto the High Road and reached the Bloody Gate. It was a simple keep with twin watchtowers joined by a covered bridge, but the Bloody Gate had faithfully guarded the Eyrie for thousands of years. Many an army had smashed themselves to pieces against its walls. They were greeted by more familiar faces, her uncle and her son.

As a girl her uncle Brynden Blackfish had been her close companion, someone she could always too when her father was too busy or her mother too ill. Even during her shameful pregnancy he had not shunned her as others had. Catelyn found great relief in seeing his face again. Robb's time in the Eyrie saw him growing taller and more confident. Catelyn knew before long he would be towering over her. She couldn't have been more proud of him.

After the custom announcement of their intentions, Catelyn introduced her younger children to their great-uncle and let Bran and Rickon become reacquainted with their half-brother.

As the Knight of the Bloody Gate, the Blackfish was not wont to leave his post and Lysa did not like to host her bastard nephew, so Catelyn and her trueborn children would be going up the mountain with just Petyr for company. The journey up the Giant's Lance proved to be a more daunting task than Catelyn had anticipated. The going was so steep and rocky that they couldn't take horses. Instead they were taken up on mules, led by a woman named Vessa and her daughter, Mya.

From the moment Catelyn laid eyes on the girl, she knew her to be King Robert's bastard daughter. The resemblance was unmistakable. Like Robert, Mya was tall and strong for her age, with thick black hair and eyes like deep, blue pools. In a nice dress she would be uncommonly pretty, but instead she wore the garb of a common laborer. Catelyn wasn't sure how old the girl was, but she guessed Mya was of an age with Robb or a little older.

Catelyn pondered the value of having her marry either Robb or Jon. She didn't know what sort of relationship Mya had with her royal father, if he knew of her or cared enough about her enough to make such a match worthwhile. Mya had not been raised as a lady, but she was young enough to be properly trained in etiquette and the womanly arts. Robert once wanted to marry Ned's sister. Catelyn wasn't sure he would want to marry one of his trueborn children to theirs, but perhaps he would be amendable to the idea of marrying his bastard to a Stark bastard.

After many hours, the mountain flattened beneath the hooves of their mules and they reached the Eyrie at last.


	5. 5

Catelyn had never been to the Eyrie before, and the castle took her breath away. Built high atop the Giant's Lance, every window offered a breathtaking view of surrounding hills and valleys. They entered first through the Crescent Chamber. Servants in sky blue livery seated them on couches in front of a roaring fire and offered refreshments after the arduous climb. Meanwhile another set of servants carried their belongings to their new chambers. Catelyn, her children, and Petyr would be settled in the Maiden's Tower, while the guardsmen she'd brought with her from Winterfell were placed in rooms below theirs.

While they rested, a maid told them that the Arryns had been informed of their arrival and were preparing themselves for a proper introduction. At last, Jon and Lysa came down to the Crescent Chamber, Lysa holding their son in her arms. Jon Arryn looked much the same as when Catelyn saw him last, still strong and sprightly despite his age. Lysa had grown slightly plumper and paler since her girlhood, but her long auburn hair still shone like beaten cooper. The child in her arms was a tiny, shivering thing, ever paler than his mother.

"Lady Catelyn," Jon called out to her a booming voice that echoed throughout the room. "It's so wonderful to see you again. Lord Baelish, you have my thanks for escorting my goodsister and her children." He nodded in Petyr's direction, acknowledging him but not saying anything more.

As soon as Catelyn rose to her feet, Jon and Lysa stopped, keeping respectable distance between them. She knew the Valemen cared deeply about honor, and her indiscretion did not make her well-loved here either. "It's good to see you too, my lord."

Jon turned his attention to the children, noticeably impressed. "Ah, I have waited too long to meet Ned's children. If only he could have come."

"He sends his regards," Catelyn supplied, "And he regret that he could not be here." She placed her hands on her sons' shoulders, "Our younger sons, Bran and Rickon. Our eldest, Edwyn, is fostered with the Karstarks. We call him Young Ned. And these are my daughters: Lyrena, Sansa, and Arya." She gestured to each of the girls as she said their names.

Jon hesitated, then said. "We've met Brandon's boy. He's a good lad, and well-behaved."

"It pleases me to hear you say so, Lord Jon," Catelyn replied honestly, though surprised by the compliment.

"What of the other one, your husband's natural son? Is he still at Winterfell?" Lysa cut in. She had a cold look in her eyes that Catelyn could not decipher. It was not the reception she had expected.

Before Jon could rebuke his wife for her rudeness, Catelyn answered, "Jon Snow is well. He's training to be a knight in White Harbor." Her sister's attack had shaken her, but she would not let it show on her face.

Jon interrupted Lysa before she could respond. "Why don't the children come meet their cousin? We named him Robert for the king, but everyone calls him Sweetrobin. Lysa, my dear, let your sister hold her nephew."

Lysa shot him an icy glance, but did as he told her. Catelyn felt incredibly awkward holding Sweetrobin when Lysa clearly did not want her to. Sweetrobin looked up her with a peaceful smile and eyes too large for his face. She felt a great rush of affection for him and kissed his white forehead. "He's a lovely child," Catelyn praised. "Hello dear, I'm your Aunt Catelyn." She re-positioned him in her arms and crouched down so her children could get a better look at him.

"Be careful," Lysa scolded in a screeching voice. "He's delicate."

"Of course," Catelyn muttered as she righted herself. Noticing her sister's agitation, Catelyn surrendered the boy to her.

Jon Arryn interjected. "Well, you've all had a long, tiring journey. Please allow my steward to escort you to your rooms."

Catelyn's visit with her sister turned out to be a massive disappointment. She had been so anxious to see Lysa, but Lysa clearly did not want her around. The children seemed to get along well enough with Sweetrobin; especially Sansa, who doted on her little cousin like a favorite doll. Catelyn was glad of it, but Lysa always got a look of quiet disgust when their children played together. Sometimes Catelyn wanted to slap the haughty look off her sister's face, yet she stayed her hand.

To make matters more baffling, Lysa seemed to be almost...still taken with Petyr. Lysa grimaced and sneered more than usual whenever Petyr spoke to Catelyn, but seemed to turn into an infatuated maid when he turned his attention to her. It made Catelyn ill at ease. In one sense, she should have been happy that her sister had reconciled with their old friend, but the circumstances of their estrangement cast a queer light on Lysa and Petyr's relationship. Jon Arryn did not appear to notice.

For the entire visit, Catelyn wrestled with uncertainty over how to approach the situation. Should she raise her concerns to Jon? If he didn't know about Lysa and Petyr's prior relationship, that might open Lysa to censure. Not matter how coldly Lysa treated her, she was still Catelyn's sister. Catelyn couldn't expose her own sister to the same shame and harsh treatment she herself had endured. She wouldn't wish that on anyone. At last, Catelyn decided that she ought to remain silent. In any case, it was not as though she had any proof that Lysa and Petyr's current relationship was anything more than close friendship between two people who had grown up together. Still, Catelyn felt remarkably uncomfortable with the entire situation.

One night she asked for a private audience with Lord Jon, which he accepted with annoyance. He asked her the purpose of the meeting as they sat down in his solar.

"The porter's daughter, Mya. I'm sure you're aware of her parentage."

Lord Jon could not have looked more surprised if she had earnestly asked if he could fly. "Aye. I provided for the mother when Robert got her with child. I felt a certain degree of responsibility for his actions, so I brought her into my household. Why would such a child interest you?"

"I thought she might make a fitting bride for either my natural son or Ned's. You know Robert better than anyone. Would he approve?"

"I believe so," Lord Jon nodded. "At least, he would not oppose. He has not much interest in any of his natural children, but he always loved the idea of joining his blood to Ned's. But why not propose a match between the trueborn children?"

"It is no secret that I am unpopular," Catelyn remarked plainly. "and I doubt our king is willing to overlook that. A marriage to the royal children would be looked on unfavorably to the rest of the realm, but a marriage between bastards could not controversy."

"Robert cares little for the wishes of the realm," Lord Jon complained. "The minute he gets the idea in his head, he'll want a marriage between his heir and your eldest daughter."

It was Catelyn's turn to be shocked. "You truly believe that?"

"Yes, but it would not be as unwise as you fear. Ned is still well-loved and thought an honorable man. That will still count for more than...your reputation. Have you spoke to Ned of this plan?"

"Aye. I sent him a raven soon after I arrived, and he said he would not be against it. He said Robert might like Mya better with Jon because he is Ned's son, rather than his nephew."

Lord Jon nodded, "Vessa, her mother, would gladly throw her daughter at such a match, but I'm not sure Mya would be pleased. She's a willful, boyish thing and stubbornly fond of her life here."

"She sounds like Arya," Catelyn couldn't help but smile. "But she's still young. She can be properly trained to be a good wife."

"Then I see nothing keeping her here other than Robert's approval."

The conclusion of their visit had not come soon enough. Once more, Petyr offered to volunteer as their escort and Lord Jon appeared glad of it. When Lysa heard of the arrangement, she stomped her foot and marched out of the room. As Lord Jon had predicted, both King Robert and Vessa eagerly through their support for the match between their daughter and Jon Snow. It was soon decided that Mya should leave the Vale with the Stark retinue. In Winterfell she would learn to fit her new station, and during the stop in White Harbor meet her new betrothed.

They stopped for two days at the Bloody Gate despite its modest accommodations so Catelyn could spend more time with Brynden and Robb. She had missed her eldest son dearly and treasured each hour she spent with him. Sometimes she was still shaken by how much he grown. Soon he would earn his spurs, grow a beard, and return to Winterfell a man grown. The last night of their visit, Catelyn and Robb stayed up talking by the fire when the rest had gone to bed.

"So, Jon is going to marry Mya Stone? That feels strange to think about."

Catelyn tilted her head, "Why so?"

"She likes Mychel Redfort. I don't think he's noticed her, but she likes him very much." Robb explained.

"She has no chance with him," Catelyn noted, ever practical. "Lord Horton is too proud to marry one of his sons to a bastard, even one with royal blood. This is a far more sensible match for her."

"That doesn't mean she will be happy about it," Robb stated.

"Women rarely are," Catelyn reminded him. "It is different for us. Regardless of birth we have little say in who we will marry. That is why we must forge our own happiness. I did, and my mother, and her mother before her. It is the way of the world. Mya will learn to do so as well."

Despite this knowledge, Catelyn still felt a twinge of guilt when she took in Mya's pale face the next morning, her wet eyes and trembling lip. For Catelyn, going to the North had been an intimidating prospect even though with years of planning behind her, but it must have been even more so for a child whose life was being turned around in just a few weeks. Catelyn swore to look after Mya in Winterfell as she wished someone had looked after her.

As the Stark retinue reversed their steps, Mya took to riding her horse beside Rena instead of sitting in the wheelhouse with the others and the two became fast friends. In time they would be like true sisters, Catelyn noted contently. When they boarded the ship, Catelyn took the girl aside and explained the honor that had been bestowed on her. Looking glum still, Mya silently nodded. The ship docked in White Harbor and the Starks, with Catelyn's new ward, once more stopped at New Castle.

Catelyn and the children were greeted generously at White Harbor. No doubt Lord Wyman was proud of the attention the Starks paid to his family, because he was planning another lavish feast to be held in their honor. Mya, decidedly out of her element, had been so anxious about the feast she was nearly in tears, even after Catelyn assured her that no one would pay much attention to her. After taking a short time to calm herself, Mya wiped her eyes and schooled her face into a almost-confident expression. Rena had lent Mya one of her old dresses to wear, instead of the servant's garb she owned.

After the Mya had gotten ready, Catelyn brought her and Jon into a small, private chamber to meet each other. Jon attempted every form of courtesy he had learned in White Harbor, but Mya gave only polite, but stiff answers. Eventually the tension in the room grew such that Catelyn dismissed Mya to prepare for the feast with the other girls.

"I can't marry her Aunt Cat!" Jon complained as soon as Mya was out of the room. "She hates me."

"She does not hate you, she's merely nervous," Catelyn assured him. "Give her some time, Jon, and she will grow to love you, as I did your father."

Jon did not look happy, but he trusted his stepmother to know what was best for him. During the feast, he and Mya were seated together below the dias. This time she made a modest effort to get to know him, and they seemed to grow a little more comfortable with each other.

Sansa was to remain as a companion to Wynafryd and Wylla Manderly until she came of age or found a husband, with her older half-brother by her side to watch over her. Ever the little lady, she thanked Lord Wyman and his family for offering her their hospitality and gave her family a heartfelt goodbye. Before they departed, she gave both Bran and Rickon a kiss on the cheek and made them promise to grew up noble and strong like Jon Snow. Catelyn found it all quite adorable.

They made short time returning to Winterfell. The sight of its grey granite walls comforted Catelyn and intimidated Mya. Once inside, Ned greeted his children with a hearty hugs, pulling all four of them into his arms at once. Mya was surprised when he gave her a hug as well.

"I knew you as a babe, though I doubt you remember." Ned told her.

"No my lord." Mya confessed timidly. "I remember a big man with black hair and blue eyes tossing me into the air when I was very little, but not much else."

"Do not fret child," Ned said warmly, "I would be most glad to get reacquainted with you. You are my honored guest and soon to be my gooddaughter."

For the first time since leaving her mother and her home, Mya gave a genuine smile.

* * *

Catelyn's daughters and ward did not give her an easy time at making them ladies. Rena took her lessons with the maester with more enthusiasm than most children and made the library her second home. She made a passable effort at the womanly arts, but had no real interest in them. Arya was half a boy and half a wolf pup; as energetic as her brothers and twice as much trouble. She was always getting into some mess or other, and was stubborn to a fault. Ned might have found their youngest daughter's antics amusing, but he did not have the trouble of making her fit for polite society. Mya at least made a solid attempt to be a ladylike, but her common upbringing hampered her efforts. She easily grew frustrated with her own missteps.

Sansa, by contrast, was a lady from birth. She could sing, dance, sew, write poetry, and play the harp like the most elegant southron princess. But Sansa was not here.

Catelyn had initially resisted the idea of hiring a septa to train her girls because the practice was not common in the North, but by the time Arya was five, she knew she couldn't make a lady out of her without help. The first septa had been a stern-faced woman named Mordane whom her father had recommended to her. After half a year Catelyn noticed that Septa Mordan had made no improvements to Arya's behavior. When Rena complained that Septa Mordane was always insulting the three of them, especially Mya, Catelyn decided Septa Mordane was not a good fit. She hired another septa, named Jonipar, who was so frail and soft-spoken that Arya completely overwhelmed her. Within a moon's turn Septa Jonipar was almost begging to take her leave. At last Catelyn asked Lady Leona to recommend a new septa from White Harbor.

Septa Lidea arrived not long after Septa Jonipar had fled, carrying with her a grandmotherly air that put the girls at ease. She told Catelyn that Arya simply had too much pent up energy, but it would burn itself out as she grew older. In the meanwhile, she recommended that Arya take extra dance lessons and frequent outings on horseback to tire her out. Septa Lidea knew she could not make Rena, Arya, and Mya love the womanly arts, not like Sansa did, so she promised to let them pursue their own interests if - and only if - they mastered their assigned tasks to her satisfaction. The first time Arya had skipped a needlepoint lesson, to play with the stableman's son in the godswood, Septa Lidea forbade her from mounting a horse for a moon's turn and gave her three extra hours of needlepoint at day during that time. Horrified, Arya resolved to never again cross her septa. Catelyn had worried about another failure, but Septa Lidea had managed to fashion the girls into passable ladies.

Her youngest sons were opposites. Bran was the sweetest child any mother could hope to have. He was generous with his time and affection, and treated Mya Stone was though she was his sister by blood. Even on his worst days, he never lashed out or showed his temper. Her one issue with her son was his insistence on climbing the walls and towers of Winterfell. Never could she forget her terror the first time she caught him, perched halfway up the Old Keep. Her mind could not conceive of how he had gotten up so high. No matter how often she discouraged him, he would always forget and go climbing again. She was sure he knew the layout of Winterfell better than any man but Bran the Builder. He more comfortable handing from windows and feeding the crows that nested on the gargoyles than he was on solid ground. At last Catelyn gave up trying to stop him. Bran had never fallen and she prayed he never would.

Rickon was a challenge. Most days he was generally happy child and could even be as sweet as Bran if he wanted, but he had fierce temper lurking under the surface. As a babe, he had been fussy and loud and demanding, and he still carried those traits as he grew into a boy. Everyone in Winterfell had learned his way of being before long. His bursts of anger were uncommon, but always followed a few days of sulking. The other children grew anxious when Rickon sulked. More than once, Ser Rodrik had to pull him off some poor boy he was pummeling in the training yard. Catelyn quickly lost count of how many times she and Ned had to intervene between him and one of his siblings, how many hours they had spent talking Rickon out of his black moods.

She and Ned had long discussions of how to handle Rickon. Catelyn remembered that Ser Patrek Mallister had been a similarly troublesome child, but his father had taken him in hand and raised him to be an amiable young man. A bit too fond of wine and women, but not alarmingly so. They had not been planning to foster him out because they were already planning to foster Bran with Roose Bolton, but they could think of no other way to help their youngest child. At least Edmure was often a guest at Seagard due to his friendship with Ser Patrek, so Rickon would not be without family near. Catelyn and Ned also decided not to send Lord Bolton their offer to foster Bran because they wanted at least one of their sons in Winterfell with them.

When they told Rickon he was to be fostered at Seagard, he burst into tears. Catelyn and Ned had not expected such a reaction from him because all the children knew how happy their older siblings were to be fostered.

"You're sending me away because I'm bad," Rickon wailed. "You don't love me anymore!" They didn't know how to respond for a minute, both just stunned and heartbroken as their five year old son sobbed in front of them. He begged, "Please don't make me leave, I promise I'll be good. I'll never hit anyone when I'm not suppose to and I'll stop pulling Arya's hair and I'll stopping making mean japes at Bran. I promise!"

Catelyn then pulled him into her arms and ran a hand through his auburn hair. After a few moments, Rickon quieted, but tears still ran down his pale cheeks. "Sweetling, that could not further from the truth. Your lord father and I love you dearly."

"This is not a punishment Rickon," Ned told the miserable child, "We're sending you to Lord Mallister to help you. He is your lord grandfather's loyal bannerman and will be good to you."

Despite their assurances, Rickon left Winterfell in a bad temper. He did not even kiss his brother and sisters goodbye before he left. Catelyn could only hope that he would find some happiness at Seagard and return to them with apologetic understanding. She knew she would have to write to him often, to remind him that they all loved him and wanted what was best for him.

A year after Rickon's tumultuous departure, they received a raven from White Harbor inviting them to a squire's tourney hosted by Lord Wyman Manderly. Robb had been invited to participate, as had his friends from the Vale. Catelyn immediately saw that this tourney was naked attempt from Lord Wyman to curry more favor with his liege lord. He had no grandsons to marry one of their daughters; the only one of their sons of the right age to marry one of his granddaughters, Young Ned, was already betrothed to Alys Karstark. Lord Wyman sought to bind his house to their in what ways he could, even if that included giving their bastards knighthoods.

Catelyn knew Ned had a strong distaste for tourneys, but he would not pass up as chance to see his son, daughter, and nephew again. He began making plans to travel to White Harbor with Bran, Rena, Arya, Mya and Theon, while Catelyn remained at Winterfell with their newborn son, Barthagon. Though they had accepted Lord Wyman's invitation, they also knew they had to find ways to bestow favor on their other bannermen, so as to not let envy fester.

It came to a massive surprise to Catelyn when, before the rest of her family had reached White Harbor, Lord Yohn Royce had come to Winterfell with his youngest son, Ser Waymar. Waymar had gotten it in his head that he belonged in the Night's Watch. As the third son of a powerful lord, he had nothing inherit and wanted to make a name for himself defending the realm from what horror lay beyond the Wall. It made her think of Benjen. Catelyn graciously offered Bronze Yohn and his son her hospitality and they congratulated her on the birth of her youngest child. She filled their bags with food and supplies for the rest of their journey north.

Everything Catelyn heard about the tourney came secondhand from a letter Ned wrote her afterward. Robb won the joust and Jon won the melee despite their youth. Robb was only fifteen and Jon fourteen, the two youngest present, yet both were knighted by their host. Domeric Bolton had participated as well, before he was unhorsed by a Vale lordling named Harrold Hardyng. Catelyn recognized the name, then remembered that he was of a relation to Lord Jon Arryn, the old man's great-nephew. Lord Jon had attended the tourney as well, and she imagined how pleased he must have been to see Ned again. Even the Karstarks had come, thanks to Young Ned's pestering she was told. He had not been permitted to participate, but Lord Rickard's three sons had.

When the tourney had ended, Lord Manderly had arranged, with Ned's approval, for Robb to have the hand of the young maiden daughter of a landed knight. Catelyn felt a flush of irritation when she heard the news, for she had not been informed beforehand. At least the wedding was planned for the beginning of the following year, meaning she had time to plan a wedding fit for her eldest son. Ned returned to Winterfell with the children a fortnight after Catelyn had gotten his letter. Robb came home as well, but Jon remained at White Harbor with Sansa to see out the rest of her fosterage.

Catelyn noticed that while everyone else had something to say about the tourney, Theon Greyjoy was notably silent. "He quarreled with Ser Jon Snow before the melee, my lady," Fat Tom, one of the guardsman, had told her. "and he's been sulking about it ever since." Catelyn decided not to pay it any mind. She had little interest in the Greyjoy lad, and in any case he was Ned's responsibility, not hers. Instead she focused on her children's stories of the event.

Arya and Bran could not stop talking about how much they had loved the tourney, seeing all those young men from the North and the Vale competing to show their strength, speed, and skill. Of course, Robb and Jon were their favorites, but they spent hours retelling each tilt and fight, assessing the worthiness of the competitors. Bran announced that he wished to be a knight like his half-brothers and would be greater than them both. Mya admitted she was extremely proud Jon for winning in the melee, especially because he had worn her favor. The prospect of marrying him did not seem as daunting to her as it had in the past.

When asked about the tourney, Rena mostly talked about Domeric Bolton and how good a jouster he was, how unfair it was that he was bested by the pompous Harrold Hardyng of the Vale. Their daughter's infatuation with the heir of the Dreadfort made Ned and Catelyn more comfortable with promising her hand to him. A blind man could see that Domeric loved her well and it would be a match worthy of her. While Ned had no more love for Roose Bolton than he had years ago, Robb swore to them that Domeric was nothing like his father. He was a thoughtful, charming lad with a strong sense of honor and gallantry, just the sort to make a young girl's heart beat faster. If King Robert wanted to marry his son to one of their daughters, he still had two more to chose from, but it was clear to all the Rena ought to be with Domeric. At last they agreed to send Lord Bolton the offer of a betrothal: Rena would become Domeric's wife after her blood came. The news elated her and she was already dreaming up plans for her wedding with her friends.

A week after the letter had been sent, Winterfell received a raven from the Dreadfort saying that Domeric was dead.


	6. 6

The letter, written in Lord Bolton's own hand, explained that Domeric had become mysteriously ill after visiting his bastardborn half-brother. Lord Bolton suspected that his bastard had poisoned his heir and had him imprisoned in the dungeons beneath the Dreadfort. He called on Ned to come east and cast judgement on the suspected murderer.

Robb's grief howled like a wounded wolf when he learned of his friend's death. Domeric had been almost as close as a brother to him. That same night, Catelyn found him hacking a training dummy to ribbons on his sword, the only way he knew to express his rage. She watch silently for a while, letting him tire himself out.

"Ser Rodrik will not appreciate that," Catelyn noted at last, her quiet voice the only sound in the empty yard apart from the blows from Robb's sword.

He stopped, then let it fall to the ground, cold metal clanging against the hard earth. "I'll kill him. I'll kill that bastard," he swore, his voice ragged and raspy.

Catelyn stepped closer and took her son's face in her hands. Even in the dim moonlight she could clearly see the red of his eyes, the tear-streaks marking his angry face. "Ramsay Snow's fate rests in your uncle's hands, not yours. I understand your need for vengeance, but never let that consume you."

She knew she should have nothing but pity toward her son, but an old fear stirred in her heart. Catelyn had never fully discounted the notion that bastards were different than other children, born with a darkness inside them that made them untrustworthy. Years ago she had convinced herself that she could raise a bastard to be honorable, that she could make Robb, Jon, and Mya loyal to her and her family. But what if she was wrong? What if one of them turned out like Ramsay Snow, despite her efforts? Or worse, because of them?

Telling Rena the awful news was more difficult than Catelyn had imagined. Though she tried to deliver the blow as gently as she could, the words stuck in her throat and tears swam in her vision. Even before Catelyn finally managed to speak, Rena knew something was terribly wrong and the worry showed plainly on her face.

"Domeric has gone with the gods," Catelyn whispered hoarsely, dreading her daughter's response. She took Rena's soft, little hands in her own. "I'm so sorry, my dear girl, he died two days past."

Rena shook her head in denial, "I don't understand. How could he be dead?"

"The maester says he come down with an illness," Catelyn began, afraid every word would open a floodgate of tears. "But his lord father believes that he was poisoned."

"No one would hurt Dom!" Rena cried, "He's kind, and friendly, and unassuming. There's nothing he could have to make someone want to hurt him!"

"Your lord father shall ride to the Dreadfort to investigate the matter," Catelyn explained.

Rena sat frozen for a moment, then the tears came. Catelyn wrapped her arms around her daughter and let Rena cry into her shoulders until no more tears came. She was pale, red-eyed, and exhausted, with a haunted expressed that Catelyn never wished to see again. "I'm not sure he loved me," Rena let out in a horrified whispered. "At least, not in the way I loved him. I know he enjoyed my company, but that's not the same as love!"

Catelyn swore, "He did, my sweet, my poor girl. Lord Bolton assures us that Domeric wished to marry you, but he died before your lord father's raven reached him."

"I don't know if that makes it better or worse!" Rena sobbed.

Within days, Ned rode east for the Dreadfort with Robb by his side to deliver justice for a once promising young man. The murderer denied any role in Domeric's death, but Lord Bolton brought half a dozen witnesses to shore up the accusation. They were all smallfolk - villagers and freeriders and transients - who either lived on the Bolton lands or had been passing through recently. The tales told of the bastard's crimes could turn a man's blood to ice in an instant. After the horrors described to him, Ned had no doubt of the bastard's guilt. He relieved Ramsay Snow of his head with a steady hand and a clear conscious.

Domeric's aunt, Barbrey Dustin, the Lady of Borrowton, had come for the trial and it was said that her wrath seemed to radiate all around her like the glow of a raging fire. That poor woman had been through so much. She had lost her husband and sister and now her nephew, who she had helped raise like he was her own. Robb swore to Catelyn he had seen Lady Dustin smile as Ramsay Snow's lifeblood watered the earth.

Catelyn asked him how he felt after seeing Ramsay Snow die, and not at his own hand. Not looking her in eye, Robb muttered that he was fine.

Now bereft of two sons, Lord Bolton hastily married the maiden daughter of Lord Cerwyn. Lady Jonelle was homely, timid, and closer to thirty than twenty, but she was a hale woman and that was all her new husband really needed. Her father was simply glad to have finally found her a keep of her own. Ned and Robb stayed for the small, somber, unadorned wedding. The next morning, Lord Bolton had pulled Ned aside and expressed his regret that Domeric and Rena could not marry, for his son had loved her with all his heart. To make up for the loss, he suggested that his first daughter with Lady Jonelle ought to be betrothed to Little Barth. Ned accepted.

No matter what anyone did to comfort her, Rena was inconsolable, even with the knowledge that Domeric's killer was dead. She locked herself in her rooms for days, only opening her doors to accept food and drink. One morning, Catelyn found Rena abed with her sister and friends; Arya, Mya, Jeyne, and Beth had piled onto her bed like pups in a kennel. At least she is letting them comfort her, Catelyn thought. That's an improvement.

After a week of deep mourning, Rena consented to leave her rooms at last and eat with the rest of the family, but found she had nothing to say to them. Domeric filled her thoughts every hour of every day. The marriage that had slipped from her hands, the children she would never have with him. Catelyn would often go to her sept and light a candle to the Stranger, praying for her daughter's sake that Domeric had found peace in the afterlife. She was too young to have felt such a harsh loss.

The other children were not much happier. Arya adored her big sister, and seeing Rena in such pain unsettled her. Bran, for his part, couldn't stand to think there was nothing he could do to help. When Sansa got the news, she sent Rena a long, heartfelt letter sending her condolences. She had been charmed by the young lordly and felt it terribly cruel of the gods to present Rena with the perfect husband only to snatch him away. Young Ned and Jon Snow sent their condolences as well, though true to their nature, their letters were shorter and more direct. It did mean they had any less pity for their sister, or were not also mourning with her, it was simply how they were.

Rena and Robb grew closer after Domeric's death. He was loved by all, but those two had loved him best. One or twice, Catelyn overheard them talking about Domeric in hushed tones, reminiscing about the songs he had played on his harp, his love of horses, the praise he bestowed on his late mother, Lady Bethany. The first time Catelyn heard Rena laugh in a fortnight occurred when she was retelling a joke Domeric had once told her.

* * *

Robb and Jon married in a joint ceremony in Winterfell on the first day of the new year. It reminded Catelyn a bit of her own wedding, though there was clearly much less at stake. The ceremony was kept modest, but it was a balm to the grim events of the previous year. Jon and Mya had been slowly building a friendship over the years, but Robb and his new wife were almost strangers. Her name was Elinor Ivory, though everyone called her Elle. Her great-grandfather had done a service to Lord Wyman Manderly's father and had been rewarded with some lands along the White Knife.

Elle was Mya's opposite in every way. Mya was tall and strong for her age, taller than Jon though he was poised to outgrow her, with thick black hair and laughing blue eyes. Elle closer resembled Lynesse Hightower, Catelyn noticed with disquiet, small and slim with honey-blonde hair and hazel eyes. She was pretty, but looked as though a strong wind could knock her over. The youngest of twelve children, Elle had likely spent her childhood overlooked and forgotten. Where Mya was bold and forthright, Ella seemed to have little to say to anyone, including her new husband.

Young Ned, Sansa, and Rickon all came home for the festivities. The return of her siblings seemed to lift Rena from her despair somewhat. She and Young Ned were once more attached at the hip and it was decided that his fostering should come to an end. Catelyn realized it was the first time all of her children were in the same place since Rena had been fostered with the Mormonts all those years ago. Sansa seemed little changed from her time in White Harbor, still an elegant little lady and obedient child. Her friendship with the Manderly sisters had blossomed, though she was closer to Wylla than Wynafryd. Catelyn and Ned were admittedly nervous about seeing Rickon again because of how upset he had been with them, but their fears were alleviated when he begged their forgiveness for his unfortunate behavior.

Lord Rickard and his daughter Alys came along, as did the Manderly sisters and their father. Edmure came to see his nephew wed, joined by Lord Jason and Ser Patrek. Lord and Lady Bolton arrived as a gesture of goodwill with Lady Bolton's father and brother in tow. Elle's entire family had come, her many siblings and cousins and aunts and uncles. They were all polite and well-mannered, but also dreadfully dull. None of Mya's family were in attendance, for her mother could not afford the journey and such an event was beneath the notice of the king and his heirs.

They married in front of the heart tree. First, Elle's father gave her to Robb to wed, then Ned gave Mya to Jon. Ned was the first man to act as a father to Mya Stone and he was honored to stand in place of her father by blood. Afterward Catelyn hosted a hearty feast in Winterfell's great hall. Her firstborn son and stepson were both knights, both wed to beautiful girls. She would have to outdo herself when Young Ned married.

After the feast, Lord and Lady Bolton were the first to leave, though Lord Cerwyn and his son Clay chose to remain at Winterfell a while longer. Lord Rickard and Lady Alys also took their leave just a week later, but Young Ned promise to visit Karhold before the year had ended. Edmure, the Mallisters, and the Manderlys were not in such a hurry to leave. They spent another moon's turn in Winterfell, clearly enjoying their visit.

Edmure had grown so much since Catelyn saw him last. In some ways he was her first child. Their mother had died when Edmure was very young and as the eldest daughter, Catelyn became his main caregiver. Lysa would look after him from time to time, but Catelyn was the one had handled him most days. Now he was a man-grown, with traces of an auburn beard on his jaw.

"How has Rickon been? Does he like Seagard?" Catelyn asked him one night when they were eating in her solar. "Ned and I have been so worried about him."

Edmure admitted, "He was quite the terror when he first arrived. Defiant, angry, willful, sullen. When I came to see him I almost wanted to scold you for inflicting such a child on a man as old as Jason Mallister, but he managed Rickon well enough. Lord Jason is stern enough to not tolerate Rickon's outburst, but kind enough to reward him for acting correctly."

Catelyn took a moment to absorb this information and turned her face to the fire, "And what did Rickon say about us? When we told him about his fostering, he started crying and screaming that we didn't love him."

"He did?" Edmure looked shocked. "I suppose I should have guessed he was upset with you, but I never heard him say such a thing. When he spoke of Winterfell, he also said he loved it and that he missed his family."

"I think he understands now why we had to send him away," Catelyn replied, still staring into the flames, "but that doesn't mean it wasn't difficult for us either."

"He's happy at Seagard." Edmure assured his sister.

Catelyn turned back to face him, "Truly?"

"He has befriended the other boys. Not without difficulty, I must admit, but he did. Patrek sees him as a little brother and indulges him when his father will not. Father has visited Seagard with me a few times and he adores Rickon; says he's just like Uncle Brynden was at the same age."

She had to smile at that. Though her father and uncle had their differences, Catelyn knew they still loved each other as only brothers could.

The following moon was a good time for all involved. Robb and Jon both seemed to get along well with their new wives, though Jon and Mya more so than Robb and Elle. Ned entertained the men with frequent hunting and hawking. The children all shared stories of their misadventures over the years. They were all interested in what Rickon had been up to since going to the Riverlands. Wylla Manderly soon became a favorite of Arya's, though Catelyn found that she better liked Wynafryd's steady, sensible demeanor.

Ella had seemed initially aloof and reserved, but she gradually opened up to her new family. To Catelyn's relief, Elle had been raised to run a household and thus had a good well knowledge to draw from when Catelyn needed her help. With a year old babe and several guests to attend to, Catelyn found that Elle's presence took a large burden off her shoulders. The children weren't sure what to make of their new goodsister at first, but Elle won over Sansa by teaching her the high harp and from then on Sansa became her advocate.

One evening, Ned got a raven from Benjen at the Night's Watch saying two of their rangers had disappeared beyond the Wall and a third had deserted. Breaking such an oath earned a man the penalty of death. The next morning, Ned prepared his men to hunt down the wayward black brother and bring him to justice. He took with him his sons, nephew, and ward, leaving behind only Barth. Edmure, Lord Jason, Ser Patrek and Ser Wylis Manderly also came along; the riverlords had only heard tales of the Night's Watch and were curious to witness a northern execution. Such a thing was not meant for women's eyes, so Catelyn stayed home with the girls.

Not an hour after Ned's party had left through the gates, Maester Luwin found Catelyn in the kitchen and gave her a letter that had come by raven. Her goodbrother Jon Arryn had passed from a summer chill. Ned would be heartbroken, suffering as Jon Arryn's family surely must be. Poor Lysa, Catelyn lamented. Poor Sweetrobin! To be so young and to lose his father so suddenly. The letter continued, saying King Robert intended to travel North to visit Winterfell. Catelyn knew at once he wanted Ned to replace the old man as Hand of the King, for there was no other in the kingdom he loved as much as those two men. Likely not even his own brothers.

At dusk the menfolk returned with two large sacks containing the last things Catelyn had ever expected - direwolf pups. No direwolf had been spotted south of the Wall in two centuries and now nine of the furry, squirming creatures ran around her kitchen! One for each of the children, Catelyn realized with a thrill of excitement. The pups came in varying shades of grey, save a black, green-eyed one Robb had claimed and a silent albino that now belonged to Jon. Her excitement turned to creeping fear when Bran told them of the dead mother wolf with an antler in her jaw, the stag she had torn to pieces. The stag was the sigil of the Baratheons, who were on their way north at that moment. It had to be an omen.

Jon sheepishly admitted, "Father thought we ought to let them alone, but Bran wanted them so badly, so I convinced him they were meant for us."

"We only found seven at first," Robb added, "so we had to omit ourselves, but then we found the other two."

Catelyn nodded approvingly, "You've done well."

"You aren't angry?" They both seemed surprised.

"Certainly not," Catelyn answered. "You were right to say these wolves were meant for you, nine wolves for nine children of Stark blood. It's a sign from the gods. Although, I worry Barth might not be prepared to handle his wolf. He's still just a baby."

"Don't worry, Aunt Cat, we'll care for his wolf until he's older," Jon promised. His devotion to her children had always warmed Catelyn's heart.

She left the children to their new companions and went to the godswood in search of her husband. She found him in his favorite place, beneath the heart tree. He was cleaning his greatsword Ice in the icy, black pool that lay beyond the tree. Catelyn had little love for that tree; she always felt as though its blood red eyes were watching, and the feeling unsettled her. When Ned heard her approached, he asked after the children.

"Already in love with their wolves," Catelyn smiled, "But they're still deciding on names."

As he cleaned the blood from his sword, Ned began telling of the deserted. He was half-mad, terrified of something Ned could scarcely imagine. More and more men were deserting the Night's Watch, from fear it seemed. Ned believed it was wildling, led by the King-Beyond-The-Wall, Mance Rayder.

At last, Catelyn broke the awful news to her husband. "I'm so sorry my love. Jon Arryn is dead."

The king's arrival awakened one of Catelyn's predictable states, the relentless pursuit of perfection that often lead others to call her a fusspot. It annoyed her, but there were worse things they could have called her. She had every corner dusted and every unruly hair slicked into place when the royal court arrived in Winterfell on a cold, summer morning.

King Robert had changed dramatically since Catelyn had seen him last, more than fifteen years ago. He'd badly gone to fat, his blue eyes seemed foggy, and a thick, gnarled beard sprouted from his chin. Gone was that captivating young lord whom women flocked to like bees to a flower. The years are crueler to some than to others, Catelyn reminded herself. What mattered more was that King Robert greeted her warmly, like a sister and simply his friend's wife.

She remembered the mother direwolf, the antler lodged in her throat.

Robert's queen, Cersei Lannister, made it clear just from her expression that she would rather be anywhere else. Despite her feelings she retained her queenly grace as Robert introduced the royal children, Crown Prince Joffrey, Princess Myrcella, and Prince Tommen. As Ned introduced their trueborn children, Catelyn swore Robert's eyes misted over when he looked at Rena. Queen Cersei looked carefully at the twins, then remarked with what sounded like smugness, "They don't look as alike as I thought they would. What a shame."

Robb and Jon were present, as was Elle, but Mya had been ordered to remain in her rooms until called out. Queen Cersei would not want her husband's bastard present, and Catelyn did not wish to offend her. Mya understood that, but Catelyn sensed that she was angry nonetheless.

Robert ordered Ned to take him the crypts, above the objections of his queen. As the two men walked away, Catelyn took charge of the situation and ushered the royal party inside. Their rooms had been prepared with lit fireplaces and light refreshments to tide them over before that evening's feast.

That night during the feast, Catelyn attempted to engaged the queen in conversation, but she did not appear interested. Instead Catelyn spent most of the meal conversing with Lord Jason , who was seated next to her. The king made a spectacle of himself by blatantly flirting with the serving girls, and it quickly became apparent to Catelyn why the queen could not enjoy the feast. The children did not notice any of the tension between the adults, instead content with enjoying each other's company. Catelyn could just make out Robb, Jon, Elle, and Mya sitting among the squires and freeriders in the back of the hall. She was only able to find them among the large crowd thanks to their direwolves.

That night she and Ned retired to her chambers and they forgot the worries of the day with a passionate bout of love-making. Ned confirmed her suspicion that Robert intended for him to succeed Jon Arryn as Hand of the King. Catelyn was horrified to hear that Ned had refused him. She had to make him see reason. Then he added that the king had requested a betrothal between Prince Joffrey and Rena, which he had to decline because he felt her heartbreak over Domeric was still too fresh.

"I know out daughter has been through a terrible loss," Catelyn told her husband. She once more pictured the dead direwolf and stag dead in the snow. "But she cannot mourn Domeric forever. The wedding need not happen tomorrow, or even next year, but she deserves a good betrothal. What better chance is there for her than to be queen?"

Ned looked skeptical, "Rena loved Domeric dearly, and he her. I worry she will be disappointed with Prince Joffrey and never find happiness with him."

"You worry too much. Rena is still so young and she's been given a second chance. She may come to love Prince Joffrey in time," Catelyn insisted.

An unexpected knock on the door interrupted their argument. The guardsman, Desmond, told them that Maester Luwin was without and required an urgent meeting with them. He had found a strange wooden box in his turret, with a sealed message inside along with a Myrish lens. Catelyn recognized the seal as belonging to House Arryn. From Lysa. The note had been written in the secret code she and her little sister had developed as girls.

Once Catelyn read the message, she lit a fire and tossed it inside. "Lysa says Jon Arryn was murdered."

Ned refused to believe it at first, convinced that Lysa was merely sick with grief and seeing shadows at every corner. While Lysa may have been impulsive, and Catelyn could never forgive her sister for her coldness toward her and her children, the message was to carefully planned to have been written and sent without deep thought. Lysa risked death if it fell into the wrong hands.

Catelyn looked to her husband. "Now we truly have no choice. You must be Robert's Hand. You must go south with him and learn the truth." Maester Luwin supported her, telling Ned that as Hand of the King he would have the power to find Lord Arryn's killers and bring them to justice, far more power than he had as Lord Paramount of the North. When he finished, Catelyn reminded him that he had to Robert as his brother in all but blood.

Ned was clearly unhappy with the soundness of their arguments. He agreed to go south, but told Catelyn she would have to rule Winterfell in his stead. Young Ned was thirteen, soon to be fourteen, and could not rule the North in his own right for another few years. Rena, they decided, would be betrothed to Prince Joffrey, though they were worried that such a change would snatch her from the friends who had cushioned her grief.

A thought came to Catelyn, "Rena should be surrounded by friends. The change may be less difficult for her if she were with other northern girls."

"Who would you have go with her?" Ned asked.

"Her sisters, certainly," Catelyn suggested, "Lady Wynafryd and Lady Wylla, if their father allows it; I'm sure their grandfather would be more than pleased. She should have girls of gentle birth with her. Her own little court. I know she is also close to Melessa Umber and Una Holt. Perhaps not Alys Karstark, her father will want her married to Young Ned as soon as she gets her blood. Perhaps one of Lady Mormont's daughters. To show that they are back in our favor."

Ned agreed to her plan, but then he added something that deeply upset her. "I will be going to King's Landing with Bran." He explained that Prince Joffrey had not gotten along well with Young Ned and he hoped Bran could befriend the future king.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I posted this too early and had to delete it because there were changes I needed to make. Then I re-posted it. Sorry if this caused any confusion.


	7. 7

Elle

With most of the men out hunting, Ella found Winterfell quieter than she had ever known it to be. The king wanted a boar for that night's feast. He took his eldest son, the crown prince, with him, and Lord Ned had taken Young Ned, Robb, and Jon. His younger brother, Benjen Stark, who had come down from the Wall, went with them, as had Lady Catelyn's brother Ser Edmure Tully and his friends. The women and children had been left behind to enjoy one more day of peace before the royal court left for the capital.

Elle had spent the morning with Robb's sister-cousins and their friends. Rena, who was betrothed to the crown prince, had a collection of highborn girls to act as her ladies-in-waiting in King's Landing as well as her younger sisters: Wynafryd Manderly, a plump and pretty girl, and her sister Wylla, who had boldly dyed her hair bright green; Jeyne Poole, the daughter of Winterfell's steward; Melessa Umber, the Greatjon's eldest daughter, who people called the Foxkiller for her fondness of hunting foxes; Lyra Mormont, who had been a close friend of Rena while she was fostered on Bear Island; and Carlena Ryswell, whose cousin Domeric Bolton had once been betrothed to Rena.

She felt out of place among them because she didn't share their long-time camaraderie. All of them had known Rena for years. She wished Lord Ned had not hidden Mya away at Castle Cerwyn, that Mya did not need to avoid the queen's wroth. Mya felt more like an equal than those girls. The gods had not blessed Elle with the skill of making friends easily. After their luncheon, she had taken her leave and they must have hardly noticed she was gone.

Elle wandered the baileys of Winterfell with no destination in mind. The castle intimidated her, but she determined to make it her home. Her marriage brought her more prestige than those of her sisters, and she refused squander her good fortune. Robb had taken her on a tour of the castle shortly before they had been married, so the going was not wholly unfamiliar to her.

She smiled when she thought of her husband. True, they were not close yet, but they liked each other well enough. Perhaps if she gave him a son soon he would love her better.

Before long Elle found herself near the oldest part of the castle, where the centuries of neglect had left the buildings half in ruins. Winterfell had stood for almost eight thousands years, if the stories could be believed. She passed the lichyard near the First Keep where the Starks laid their most faithful servants to rest. The crypts were nearby, Elle knew, but she dared not enter them alone. The broken tower stood several yards. Once the tallest building in Winterfell, a bolt of lightning had struck off the top third and the Starks abandoned it.

Bran's direwolf pup stood at the base of the tower, circling it anxiously. All of Lord Ned and Lady Catelyn's children had a direwolf, the only ones seen south of the wall in centuries. Robb had named his jet black wolf Windchaser, for his speed. His cousin Jon's wolf was Ghost, an albino who never made a sound. The twins had named each other's wolves; Rena named Young Ned's wolf Ayrmidon, while he named hers Moonmaid. Sansa's wolf, the most well-behaved of the litter, became Lady, while Arya's was called Nymeria after the Princess of the Rhoyne. Rickon had chosen the simple name Frost for his wolf, and it suited him well. As Barth was too young to name his wolf, everyone had taken to calling it the Beast. Only Bran had not yet found a name for his wolf.

When she followed the pup's gaze and looked up, she saw Bran high up among the gargoyles and crows. Elle froze in fear. Everyone in the castle knew he loved to climb, not matter how often his mother discouraged it. Robb liked to boast that Bran never fell, but that didn't stop her heart from pounding at the sight of him so far off the ground. She wanted to call out to him, but feared the sudden noise might startle him. She stood at angle where she would tell he was looking into a window, but she couldn't tell what he was looking at.

A hand flung out from the tower window and Bran plummeted to the earth.

Elle's mouth let out a shriek of horror before her mind fully understood what had happened. Someone had killed Bran. Bran, the sweetest and kindest of Lord Ned's children. Her blood heated up, and Elle ran to her little goodbrother as fast as her legs could take her, screaming his name. It made no sense, everyone loved him. She found him lying on his back, silent and unmoving though his eyes were wide open. His direwolf howled, as if in grief. Her hands trembled, she feared to touch him. A murder of crows circled above them. Their screeching seemed oddly distant and quiet. Bran's chest rose and fell. He lived. Thank the gods, he lived!

But he was not yet out of danger yet.

"Bran, can you hear me?" Ella asked desperately. His eyelids fluttered and he let out a gargled noise.

Elle looked up at the tower and saw nothing from the window. The attacker must still be inside, but she had to worry about Bran's survival first. She cursed herself for screaming. Surely they heard her and were already planning an escape. Terrified and guilt-ridden, Elle lifted poor Bran into her arms and began running back to a more populated part of the castle.

She ran across the yard to the guard's hall. Most of the men had gone, but some had to still remain. To her relief, she found three men sitting outside whetting their swords and called out to them. They stood up as she approached them with the dying child in her arms.

"Lady Elinor, what happened?!" The oldest man asked.

"Maester!" She panted from lack of breath. "To the maester!"

The man who had spoken ordered one of his younger companions to take Bran from her and run to the Maester's Turret. Elle gave him up without a fight. A solider could run quicker than her. The pup, which had been following her, ran after the solider now. Once her arms were free, she pointed to the broken tower, still struggling to speak from the burning of her lungs. More men emerged from the guard's hall, aroused by the commotion.

"Gods be good," the man shook his head, "Lord Bran has fallen from the tower. He never falls."

"No," Elle corrected once she found her voice, "He was pushed! Someone tried to kill him. I didn't see his face, but I saw a man try to kill Bran."

Her words sent a ripple of shock though the small crowd.

The old guard spoke to his men, his voice thick with anger, "To the tower. We will find the scoundrel who did this. Donnis, find Lady Stark and inform her of her son's condition. Varly, escort Lady Elinor to her chambers."

Elle did not feel better knowing that the Stark men were now on the hunt for Bran's attacker. She was sure the man had gotten away. Too much time had passed. He could be gone long before they reached the tower. What would she say to Lord and Lady Stark? To Robb? She couldn't bear to imagine their faces if Bran died. Lady Rena's betrothed had been murdered not long ago, and now the family would face the murder of their son.

She spent the next few hours in her chambers, waiting for the men to arrive. Fear and anxiety ate away at her nerves. At last, when the sun had near set, another of the guardsmen had summoned her to the great hall for an audience with the king and her husband's uncle. As she walked the corridors, Robb came up to her and enveloped her in his arms.

That brought on a fresh wave of tears, "Bran is..."

"I know," he whispered hoarsely, "That whole castle knows now."

"I'm sorry, I didn't catch the man who did it," Elle whispered.

"We'll find him," Robb swore. He kissed her deeply, and Elle's knees shook.

"What was that for?" she asked when their lips had parted."

"For saving my brother. If you hadn't been there, who know how long it would have taken someone to find him? And we wouldn't have known it was murder." Robb placed his hand on the small of her back as he led her down the hall.

"Bran might not live," Elle replied helplessly, "And the murderer might not be caught."

"We can't afford to think that way," Robb told her sternly, "Maester Luwin is a capable hand, and my lord uncle will stop at nothing to find that man did this to his son. Come, we can't keep everyone waiting."

* * *

Wynafryd

Wynafryd held Rena's hand as they walked briskly into the Great Hall, the other ladies-in-waiting trailing behind them. People made room for the nine girls to pass as they made their way to the front of the room. Their peaceful afternoon had turned to a horror when a maid had came running into the castle saying that Bran was dying. Maester Luwin now tended to him, with his tearful mother at his side. None else were permitted to see him until the maester confirmed that his life was no longer in immediate danger. Since Bran's fall, the direwolves had been howling loudly without end.

They arrived while King Robert and Lord Eddard were calling on witnesses. Arya, still trembling, clung to Sansa. Rena took a space by her twin brother, whose face was hard with anger. Their father's face was even harder and colder. The king had a flat expression, and beside him the queen sat pale and trembling. Wynafryd found the bastards, Ser Robb and Ser Jon Snow, standing beside Rickon. Ser Edmure Tully gripped the pommel of his sword, face white and furious.

Every eye in the hall fixed on Elinor Ivory as she recounted the events of that afternoon. Most frustratingly, she had not seen the attacker's face, though she was certain it was man's hand that had pushed Bran. She ended with a plea for forgiveness, for she had allowed the would-be murderer to escape.

"Be at peace child," Lord Eddard spoke to her softly, "You did all anyone could have asked of you."

Elle's chin trembled, and she politely curtsied. When the king dismissed her, she fled back to the sidelines into her husband's waiting arms.

Lord Eddard then called on the guards she had beseeched for help; their tale matched hers. An older guardsman, named Wayn, spoke for his men. "When we reached the broken tower, we found that the door had been thrown open and not properly shut. The attacker fled in haste, just as Lady Elinor said he might. Inside my men found damp sheets in one of the upstairs rooms, where he had lain with a woman."

Queen Cersei flushed and turned her head away slightly, her long golden curls falling across half her face like a curtain. Wynafryd did not blame her; Wayn could have chosen more delicate words. The younger girls, save perhaps Arya, looked embarrassed as well.

"Did you catch the man? Or the woman?" King Robert demanded.

"No your grace," Wayn confessed. "The tower was empty by the time we arrived, and as was the surrounding bailey. We searched the nearby buildings, but we found no one save her grace the queen praying in Lady Catelyn's sept with her brother Ser Jaime."

All eyes turned to the queen, who had a thoughtful look on her face. "My heart broke when I learned what became of Lord Stark's poor boy," Queen Cersei sniffled. "but I have no idea what happened."

"You didn't see anyone suspicious while you were in the sept?" King Robert questioned his wife.

She shook her head, "I had spent the hour praying for our safe journey on the marrow. My brother came to stand guard over me. Inside the sept, we were not aware of anything occurring without. We saw no one, knew nothing."

King Robert accepted her testimony without question, but Lord Eddard looked unsure and troubled. They continued the questioning and received no clear answers as to what happened. Wynafryd watched the processions of witnesses with growing unease. She could scarcely imagine why anyone would be willing to harm Bran Stark. At last, as the court grew evermore restless, the king announced, "The hour grows late. We shall resume on the morrow, but until the criminals responsible are found, not one person sets foot outside Winterfell."

The next day and a half, all anyone could talk about was Bran's fall, though they spoke of in hushed tones. Rena was more angry than sad, and she wore a permanent scowl at all times. Not even the Foxkiller's jests could lift her mood. The following morning Wynafryd stumbled upon Rena arguing fiercely with Young Ned, but they abruptly stopped when they realized she was there. Wynafryd knew better than to ask what they had been fighting about, but she suspected it had to do with their little brother's fall.

Lady Catelyn stayed in Bran's chambers. She would not rouse herself even to tend to her youngest child, the baby Barth, and left him to care of Lady Elinor and a wetnurse. No one but Maester Luwin and her handmaidens had even seen her since the fateful afternoon. Wynafryd doubted Bran would survive and she pitied Lady Catelyn for the additional pain she would endure when her son finally died.

The evening after Bran's fall, as most of the castle prepared to the leave the Great Hall to retire after supper, Ser Jaime brought a man into the hall and threw him to the ground in front of the raised dias.

"Kingslayer, what is this?" the king demanded.

"This is the man who tried to kill Lord Stark's son," Jaime spat. "He confessed." The hall instantly went silent. Wynafryd's breath stopped in her throat. The accused man remained on his knees, head bent and his grey-brown hair hanging over his face. "Look your king in the eye! Confess!"

Wylla dug her fingers deep into Wynafryd's arm, but Wynafryd was so transfixed by the display that she did not protest it.

The accused man lifted his head. "I...I am guilty, your Grace. I swear it in the sight of gods and men."

Lord Eddard looked between the man and the Kingslayer, his expression confused and suspicious. "Your name."

"Osker, m'lord. My brother owns a mill along the Acorn Water."

"What compelled you to commit such a crime?" Lord Eddard asked coldly.

"He caught us, m'lord. I had been with my brother's wife in the broken tower. I thought no one would see us, but the boy saw us. I panicked, and thought only to protect the secret," the man confessed, oddly calm. "I did not know he was your son, I did not think he was highborn. I beg your forgiveness, m'lord, I did not mean to kill him. It was a mistake, a horrible mistake."

Wynafryd felt disquieted by his composure. He seemed intimidated, to be sure, but not truly fearful or penitent. Why he had come forward? Did he believe his honesty would bring him mercy?

"A good lad is dying because you could not keep your hands off a woman," King Robert spat in disgust. "You ought to be hanged!"

"Your Grace," Lord Eddard interrupted, "I wish to hear from his brother and his brother's wife before sentencing him. She is part of this too."

The king nodded once, "Very well. Send this rat into the dungeons. Do not give him food or drink until his family comes to speak for him."

After a day had come and gone, the miller and his wife came from the Acorn Water and went before King Robert and Lord Eddard in the Great Hall. The miller's wife confessed to the adultery, but her husband seemed placid about the betrayal. With his own brother no less! How strange, Wynafryd thought, that he showed as little emotion as his brother. His wife trembled slightly, and seemed genuinely nervous. Wynafryd couldn't make head or tails of this situation.

When Lord Eddard sent guards to fetch the man from the dungeons, they returned saying that he had died in the night. Clotted lung, judging from the yellow-green bile leaking out of his mouth. He had been dying for several days, Wynafryd realized with a start. And King Robert had hastened his death. Was that the reason neither he nor his brother cared about his fate? Because he was already a dead man walking? Did he take his goodsister to bed as a last earthly pleasure before his coming demise?

King Robert ordered the miller's wife whipped for adultery and gave Oskar's bones to the miller for burial. Everyone accepted the outcome. Bran's attacker was dead, the attacker's lover was chastened. Bran himself still lived, though for how long no one could say. The royal court would resume plans to travel back to King's Landing.

Though she never said so out loud, for it was not her place, Wynafryd felt as though they had overlooked something important in this strange case.

* * *

Myrcella

During the long, slow journey back to King's Landing, Myrcella devoted her time to studying the northerners.

Father always spoke of what a good man Lord Stark was, so it did not surprise Myrcella when he made his old friend Hand of the King. The late Jon Arryn had been sober and dutiful, and she expected the same from Eddard Stark. She had met him once, when she was very little, though she did not remember it. Watching him and her father together, she wondered why they liked each other. Lord Stark reminded her of Uncle Stannis, and she knew there was little love between her father and uncle.

Lord Stark brought with him a whole pack of young girls, his daughters and the daughters of his bannermen. He had betrothed his eldest daughter, Lady Lyrena, to Joffrey and so she was to be Myrcella's goodsister. She had never had a sister and Lady Lyrena was fortunate enough to have two. As far as Myrcella could tell, they shared nothing in common but love for their family and their direwolves. Sansa, the elder, resembled her Tully mother and was decidedly more feminine than the willful, high-spirited Arya, who was the spitting image of her Stark father.

The journey back south felt easier than the initial journey north, now that she knew what to expect. Some of the Northern girls were miserable crossing the Neck, especially Lady Sansa and Lady Melessa, but Lady Arya loved it. She played in the bogs with her direwolf and picked strange flowers for her father when permitted. Since that man in Winterfell had pushed his son Bran from a tower, Lord Stark required that his children be watched by at least one guard at all times. His son Rickon had left Winterfell with them, but he and the Riverlords parted ways with the rest of the retinue once they had crossed the Neck, bound for Seagard. Tommen had enjoyed the company of another boy near his age, and Rickon's departure had vexed him.

A week after they left the Neck, they stopped at an inn along the Trident, near the ruby ford. Father had gone before she woke the next morning, so Myrcella broke her fast with her mother, brothers, and uncle Jaime. Uncle Tyrion had wanted to visit the Wall and so went north with Lord Stark's brother. She missed him.

"Myrcella, my dear, this morning the Lord Stark's daughters will ride in the wheelhouse with us." Mother announced. "It think it will be good for you to spend time with your soon-to-be goodsisters. And don't worry about the wolves. They won't be allowed anywhere near the wheelhouse. I know they frightening you."

"That sounds lovely, Mother," Myrcella replied. From the beginning, the Stark sisters had been kind to her, but only Sansa had made much effort trying to befriend her. Lyrena and Arya preferred the company of the other northern girls; Myrcella got the feeling that Arya didn't even like her very much. Perhaps if they spent the day together, they might let her into their circle.

But later that morning, she learned that her father was on a hunt with his new Hand and the Small Council had sent Uncle Renly and Ser Barristan to escort them back to King's Landing. The retinue would not move until Father had met with his brother and the lord commander, so they would remain in place for the day. When Myrcella went out to greet them, she found Sansa already talking to them, her direwolf curled at her feet. Myrcella froze; the wolves frightened her.

Sansa smiled brightly and curtsied when she saw Myrcella coming. "Good morning, my princess. Your lord uncle and Ser Barristan have come to escort us all to King's Landing."

"Hello Lady Sansa," Myrcella greeted politely, "Uncle Renly, Ser Barristan, it's so wonderful to see you again."

Both men bowed to her, then Uncle Renly pulled her into a deep hug and kissed the top of her head. "Lovely to see you as well, my dear niece. We have some business to attend with your father, then we shall continue on to King's Landing with you."

"Yes, my mother told me this," Myrcella answered. "I'm glad you'll be joining us. Oh, Sansa, I'm afraid you and your sisters cannot ride in the wheelhouse with us today. Lyrena is spending the day with Joffrey, but Mother and I have no occupations for you and Arya."

"That's quite alright, princess," Sansa said. "Arya had wanted to go riding near the ruby ford with the other girls. I'm sure they'd be happy if we joined them."

"I...I would love to, but I shall need find Mother and request her leave..."

Uncle Renly laughed, "I'm sure she'll hardly be concerned. Go with your new friends, Myrcella, and I shall inform her."

The direwolf got up, causing Myrcella to flinch. "Don't be afraid, Lady never bites," Sansa assured her. Myrcella stood bone stiff as the direwolf walked over to her and licked her fingers. "See? She likes you," Sansa cooed.

"I must admit, I can't imagine what your lord father thought allowing you children to have wolves," Ser Barristan admitted.

Sansa stated proudly, "Starks are wolves, ser."

After they bid goodbye to the two men, with Sansa's guard keeping watch, the two of them rode to join up with the other girls. They were already mounted on their horses, with Septa Lidea and another Stark guard looking after them. Some of the girls were more enthusiastic about her presence than others. Wynafryd pounced her immediately with questions about life at court, while Wylla challenged Arya, Lyra and the Foxkiller to a race. Jeyne Poole listened intently to every word Myrcella said, and she decided she liked her best. Meanwhile, Carlena chatted happily with Sansa and Septa Lidea. The two faithful Stark guards followed close behind, but did not insert themselves into the girls' conversations.

At noon they stopped by a bend in the river for luncheon. Septa Lidea had packed food for them all and they ate on a large blanket under the shade of oak trees. After they had eaten and gone on a little further, they reached the ruby ford. This was where the Battle of the Trident had taken place, the last great battle of her father's way. The royal court had passed it on the way north, and Myrcella pointed it out to the others. Father often spoke of smashing in Prince Rhaegar's breastplate, scattering the rubies on his black armor like droplets of blood. Arya wanted to find Rhaegar's rubies.

The northern girls dismounted their horses. Myrcella could only stare in shock as Arya, Wylla, Lyra, Carlena and the Foxkiller waded into the river, running around in the ankle-high water and trying to catch anything that looked shiny. Sansa, Jeyne, and Wynafryd sat on the banks, splashing their feet in the water and laughing. Myrcella placed herself beside them, but kept her feet dry.

"I found one of Rhaegar's rubies!" Jeyne shrieked with glee, reaching her hands into the river. She held up a dark red stone that glimmered in the afternoon sunlight.

The girls all raced to Jeyne's side, even those who had been sitting on the banks. They argued over whether it was truly a ruby, or some other red gem. Wynafryd acted as the voice of reason among them, "We shall take it to Septa Lidea and ask for her opinion." After examining it, Septa Lidea concluded that was a garnet, not a ruby. Jeyne looked disappointed. But when Sansa promised to have it set in a necklace for her, she smiled again.

"What is going on here?" a familiar voice demanded. They had all been so absorbed in Jeyne's garnet, they hadn't noticed Prince Joffrey and Lady Lyrena riding toward them. He seemed agitated and Lyrena looked tired and bored. She had not brought her wolf with her. Myrcella was suddenly painfully aware of her messy hair and wet clothes. The girls curtsied best of they could in their bedraggled state. Joffrey's presence had sucked all the joy from the air.

"We were just spending some time with your lovely sister, my prince," Sansa answered. "Lady Jeyne found a garnet in the river."

Joffrey sneered, "Do you to this often in the North? Is this what is considered an acceptable way for ladies to behave?"

"Only on special occasions," Arya replied sarcastically "Like when we're not practicing witchcraft and eating boys' hearts."

"Lady Arya, take care how you speak to the prince," Septa Lidea warned sharply.

"You ought to listen to your septa, little girl." Joffrey smirked, moving closer and placing his hand on the pummel of his new sword, Lion's Tooth.

Nymeria barked angrily at the prince; Lady growled, bearing her sharp, white teeth. Fear rose in Myrcella again, until she realized their wroth was not aimed at her. Joffrey's horse, an impressive blood bay, reared up in fright. Myrcella grabbed Jeyne's hand in fright; though she did not like Joffrey, he was still her brother and she worried for his safety. The two Stark guards leapt into action and got Joffrey's horse under control. Fortunately, he had not been thrown from his saddle, but the look on his bloodless face showed that his pride had been severely wounded. The danger now passed, a few of the northern girls tried not to laugh at him.

Later that night, at the inn, Joffrey insisted to Mother and Father that the wolves were a danger and ought to be gotten rid off. The Stark sisters protested, arguing that Lady and Nymeria had not actually attacked him, nor had he been injured in any way. "A mouse could have spooked that horse," were Arya's exact words. When asked what happened, Myrcella confirmed what her friends at said and refused to cower under her older brother's withering glare.

"I will not suffer those beasts being near my son!" Mother hissed.

"Then he'll do well to stay away from them," Lord Stark shot back.

"My love," Mother turned to Father, "Tell the lord hand that the safety of your heir is more important that a few mangy wolves."

Father rolled his eyes, "In a few years Joffrey will be a man grown, yet you coddle him like he's still in his swaddling clothes. If even Myrcella does not fear them so much, how can he? When we reach the city they'll be sent into the kingswood, but until then, Joffrey, leave them be."

"I will, Father," Joffrey said through clenched teeth.


	8. 8

It took twelve days for the other residents of Winterfell to finally force Catelyn from Bran's sickbed. Her handmaidens stripped her clothes from her body and washed her thoroughly, then placed a new, clean dress on her. They sat her down in her solar and served her a full meal, though she only nibbled at it. When she had had enough to eat, Young Ned came to see her.

"I would guess this was your doing?" Catelyn asked as he took a seat across from her.

"You had the mother's madness on you," Young Ned answered.

"Don't forget I am your mother, and I will not tolerate being spoken to thus," Catelyn warned.

Young Ned's ears turned pink, "My apologies Mother. Lord Rickard always said... It matters not. Mya is caring for Bran now."

"Mya? When did she return from Cerwyn?"

"Yesterday afternoon."

"Why was I not told?"

"Robb did try to tell you, but you were focused only on Bran."

"I understand," Catelyn nodded, feeling slightly chastened.

Young Ned rose from his seat and hugged her tightly; Catelyn returned the gesture. When he pulled away, Catelyn could plainly see that he was overwhelmed. "You wouldn't talk to us, or leave Bran's room. I was afraid. Edd and Torr always say I'm too soft, but I can't help it. I wanted to be a good lord, I just don't know if I can do it without you."

"I'm sorry, sweetling," Catelyn tugged at his cheek. The faintest line of hair had begun sprouting on his lip, but in many ways he was still so young and green. "I promise that you can depend on me from now on."

Young Ned looked down, his ears turning pink again. He muttered, "I don't _want_ to have to depend on you. I do love you Mother, but I'm almost a man grown. I should be able to handle everything on my own. It's not your place."

"You won't be able to handle anything if you have that attitude," Catelyn scolded. "Do you think your father never relied on me to help him rule? I was the one who implored him to let you and brothers and sisters be fostered. Elsewise you would not have set foot in Karhold. He did not want to become Hand of the King, but I convinced him to accept King Robert's offer and betrothed Rena to Prince Joffrey."

Her son looked stunned to hear the truth. "Truly?"

Catelyn calmed down, "Do not underestimate what any woman is capable of. You are a boy still, I know you don't want to hear, but you are. Your lord father left me to guide and train you while he is in King's Landing. Do you think he erred in his judgement about my place?"

"I'm sorry, Mother," Young Ned said seriously, "I should not have insulted you."

"Your apology is accepted," Catelyn sighed, grateful that he understood. "I know you got those ideas from Lord Karstark. Our alliance with him has brought us much good, but you must not mistake his confidence for proof that he is right about everything. When you are older and wiser, you will be able to think for yourself. Until then, listen to no one above your father, myself, and your half-brothers."

"I understand," Young Ned swore.

During those twelve days Catelyn had spent attached to Bran's side, Young Ned had made new appointments for positions in the staff, as many of their servants had gone south with his father. He gave Catelyn the list, then asked her to look it over and give her opinion on his selections. His half-brothers had been helping him cover the duties of both the lord and the lady while Elle cared for Barth, but they were all young and inexperienced and needed Catelyn's help.

With the fog of grief slowly dissipating from her mind, Catelyn resumed her duties. Still, in the back of her mind, she worried constantly for Bran. In the evenings, before she retired, she would spent an hour or two sitting at his sickbed, holding Barth and singing to them both softly. She often wondered if Bran could hear her.

Maester Luwin said that even if he woke one day, he would never be able to walk. It broke her heart to hear that. Bran had wanted to be a knight someday, a hero like the ones in the songs. This news would crush his little spirit. Catelyn thought of what Bran could do with his life afterward. He could still be an adviser to his brother, or even to the next king if Rena could influence Joffrey to grant him a position on the Small Council. He could become a scholar or scribe, or write songs, or build castles and towns. Catelyn would be content with whatever he did, so long as he lived.

The walls of Winterfell felt strangely cold and empty with Ned gone. Catelyn accepted that as the price to keep their family safe, but she still longed to walk into his solar and find him hunched over one letter or another. There was no use writing to him now, for it would be weeks before the king's retinue reached King's Landing. She hoped all went well and that he and the girls were alright.

The days dragged on, and as Catelyn sat in Bran's room repairing an old dress, she heard a faint, "Mother?" coming from his bed. Her head shot up like an arrow and her hands froze.

"Bran? Are you awake?" Catelyn feared that she had just imagined it.

His unnamed wolf leapt up from the floor onto his bed, nuzzling his face. A shaky giggle emerged from her son's throat. Catelyn set her work aside and raced to his bedside. Sure enough, his eyes were wide open. "His name is Summer!" Bran said proudly.

Overcome with relief, Catelyn threw her arms around him and wept into his shoulder. Her son lived! Thank the old gods and new, her son lived! The fear and fatigue melted off her like snow in the summer sunshine. She could scarcely wait to tell Ned. The girls and Rickon would be so happy to know that their brother remained in the realm of the living. And Barth would grow up knowing his big brother.

"Mother! What happened? Why do I feel so..." Bran's face turned to confusion. "I can't feel my legs. Why are you crying? What happened?"

Catelyn regained control of herself, and hastily wiped her tears with her sleeve. "What do you last remember?"

"I was...um."

"Climbing the broken tower?" Catelyn finished.

Bran flushed, knowing he had somehow been caught. "I know you told me not to, but we were going to leave Winterfell forever, and I'd never get to do it again. You don't know how beautiful the castle is from that high. I had to see it one last time."

Indeed, that would be the last time he climbed anything, Catelyn thought sadly. "Do you remember the man and woman you saw inside the tower?"

He became more confused, "I don't remember seeing anyone. I was climbing, then it felt like I was in a dream, and then I woke up, just now."

"Perhaps the fall scrambled your wits."

"Fall?" Bran's face turned pure white. The wolf, Summer, rested his head on Bran's lap. "I never fall."

"You were pushed. When you were climbing, you saw a man and woman...doing something they shouldn't have and the man pushed you out of the tower. He confessed to what he had done, then died of an illness."

Bran looked down at his lower half, which was covered in thick furs, in horror. "Is...is that why I can't feel my legs? They're broken?"

Catelyn stroked his long, auburn hair, so much like her own, "I'm so sorry, sweetling."

"But they'll heal, won't they? Maester Luwin can heal anything."

"But he can't heal this, I'm afraid. Maester Luwin said you'll never walk again."

Tears came streaming down her son's face like swollen rivers as sobs shook his frail, emaciated body. Catelyn held him tightly in her arms until he tired himself out.

The family tried to adjust to Bran's changing circumstances as best they could. The fall had not only broken his body, but his heart as well. Once, Bran had dreamed of becoming a knight of the Kingsguard, or competing in tourney and having songs written of his valor, but these dreams had withered with his broken legs. He lay confined to his tower chamber. Summer and Old Nan kept him company most of the time, but his family members took turns sitting with him before bedtime.

Catelyn tried to help Bran find a new passion, something to occupy his mind. She suggested that he read books on architecture and history, or learn to write poetry and music, or study the Seven-Pointed Star with her. But no matter what she offered, Bran had no interest. When she exhausted her options, Catelyn decided it might be best to leave him alone for now, and let him decide when he was ready to find a purpose in life. Yet still it pained her to watch her little boy laying in bed listless and depressed.

Some good news came to them soon after Bran's awakening: Mya announced that she was with child. Catelyn was on the whole happy for her stepson and his wife, though Mya's pregnancy pricked that old fear in the back of her mind of her trueborn children losing Winterfell. She stamped it down and congratulated them both heartily. Mya and Jon loved her family, and she trusted them to raise their children to be loyal subjects of House Stark.

A few days after Mya told the news, she asked to speak to Catelyn in private. They met in Catelyn's solar in the later afternoon, shortly before the family was to convene in the great hall for supper.

"Are you unwell Mya?" Catelyn asked with genuine concern. "I have been through this trial enough times to be of help to you."

"I am well at the moment, Lady Catelyn, thank you" Mya replied. "I've already spoken of this with Jon, but I wish for your input. When our child is born, must it bear the name Snow? Jon and I are bastards, but our child will be trueborn. The names Stark and Baratheon are beyond us, but might we call it something else?"

Catelyn took a moment to think over Mya's words. "What does Jon think?"

"He hates the thought of his child bearing a bastard name, as do I," Mya stated.

"You could alter the name Snow," Catelyn suggested. "There is a house in the Reach called Oldflowers; they are descended from the bastard son of one of the Gardner kings. My lord husband plans to grant lands in the Gift to both his son and mine in the near future. When the decree comes, you can all change your names to whatever you find more suitable."

Mya beamed, "Jon will be so happy to hear that."

"About the names, certainly, but do you think he'll be happy in the Gift? Or you, for that matter?" Catelyn wondered. "It's further north than even the Last Hearth."

"It will be difficult to leave Winterfell, but we'll manage. It's more than most bastards in our position would get," Mya replied.

The weeks went on. Young Ned diligently attended lessons and heeded his mother's instructions, while his half-brothers completed what tasks he could not. Rickon wrote to her from Seagard, to let her know that he was safe and well, and how little he liked the crown prince. Barth had begun to walk, sometimes clutching the Beast's fur as he moved around the nursery. Catelyn wished Ned and the girls were present to see him. He had the Stark eyes, but otherwise his face resembled his cousin Sweetrobin's. His hair was red-brown, darker than his mother's auburn, and impossibly soft and thick.

Tyrion Lannister returned from the Wall more than a moon's turn after he had split from the royal party. He looked pale and tired after his difficult journey north and the weeks he had spent among the Night's Watch, but Lannister seemed more than satisfied with his adventure. Lannister had come with a black brother named Yoren, who was tasked with finding new recruits for the Watch. Young Ned greeted them with bread and salt, gave Yoren leave to search the dungeons for new brothers, and let them eat at his table as honored guests. Catelyn did not trust Lannister, especially not after reading Lysa's note, but she did not wish to arouse his suspicions, so she played the part of a gracious, generous hostess.

One evening, while Lannister supped with Catelyn in the privacy of her solar, he remarked, "If I may speak freely, my lady, you are quite a curiosity in the south."

Catelyn's cheeks flushed, for she knew exactly what he was referring to. Even after all these years, her pride had not fully recovered from sting for being thought a whore. "Are you certain this is a topic worth discussing at the table?" she replied in a low, warning tone.

Lannister couldn't help himself, "Why, it's not as though it's a secret? I beg you to satisfy my curiosity: how do you and your husband tolerate each other when you've both brought children into your marriage?"

"The particulars of my marriage are none of your concern!"

"No, but they are of interest to me. My sister came to Robert's bed as pure as the Maiden herself, but I'm amazed they haven't killed each other yet. You and Lord Stark, though...I'd wager he even loves you."

"You are dangerously close to being rude, my lord," Catelyn said coldly.

"I'm paying you a compliment!" Lannister feigned innocence. "It's quite remarkable how well you've done for yourself. When Robert got that Florent girl with child at his brother's wedding, her parents married her off to a household knight as soon as she gave birth. You, on the other hand, are the Lady of Winterfell, one the grandest castles in the realm, and your son will inherit it after his father."

"My lord husband is forgiving and understanding," Catelyn stated, wanting nothing more than for this conversation to end.

Lannister nodded, "I would say the same of Robert, but those qualities don't apply to my sister. I think he'd go mad with rage if she brought him another man's son to raise."

"Robb is not just another man's son," Catelyn shot back. "He's my husband's nephew, the only child of his late brother."

"Yes, and he would have been Lord of Winterfell instead of Lord Eddard, had you married Brandon. That must eat at them both."

"You know nothing of my husband or son," Catelyn snarled, though she began to feel a cold sweat on her neck. "Ned values family above all, and whatever else he may be, Robb is part of this family."

"And you feel the same toward your husband's bastard." Lannister observed. "I heard a rumor once that Robert got twins on a serving maid at Casterly Rock, and in response Cersei killed the children and sold the mother into slavery. It's only a rumor, of course, but it doesn't sound unlike my sister. When I was a boy, the Lady of Farman sold her husband's bastard daughter to a brothel after he died. When I visited Ashemark last spring, one of Lord Marbrand's crusty old aunts bragged that many years ago she got her husband's bastard son sent to Night's Watch by accusing him of stealing from her."

"What is the purpose of these stories?"

"To demonstrate why I can't understand the fact that you actually like Jon Snow. You come to the marriage soiled by his own brother, Lord Eddard shuns your bed in favor of another woman, you both humiliate each other with your bastards, yet somehow your whole house gets along. It's like Blackwoods and Brackens suddenly becoming the closest of friends. Until I came to Winterfell, I was certain you and your husband hated each other."

"As I have expressed before, I have no interest in sharing the details of my marital life with you, so this line of questioning can go no further."

"You Starks are such a strange bunch," Lannister shook his head.

Catelyn pretended not to be pleased when he called her a Stark, for she was still angry with him.

On his last day in Winterfell, before he continued traveling to King's Landing with Yoren, Lannister asked to see them all near the stables. Catelyn obliged him, wondering what he had to say to them. She carried Little Barth in her arms; Young Ned, Robb, Jon, Elle, and Mya walked behind her; Hodor walked behind them with Bran in his arms. Theon Greyjoy had neglected to come. One of the grooms brought out Dancer, the gentlest pony in the stable. She wore an odd saddle on her back, the likes of which Catelyn could not recall ever seeing before.

"I had this saddle made for your son Bran, my lady. It will let him ride a horse without need of his legs," he explained. "My own are too short to ride a horse in the normal manner, so I had to fashion a saddle that would let me stay on and control the horse in other ways."

His generosity surprised Catelyn so much, she forgot her manners for a moment. "Truly? It will allow him to ride a horse?"

"The only way to be certain is to have him try it," Lannister replied.

Two grooms helped Bran into the saddle. After taking several moments to grow accustomed to the strange saddle and with some instruction from Lannister, Bran urged the horse forward. A smile broke out on his face when Dance obeyed. He took several turns around the yard, laughing for the first time in many weeks as his brothers and goodsisters cheered him on.

A tear fell down Catelyn's cheek as her son came back to life. "I owe you a debt of gratitude, Lord Tyrion."

"I confess, I have a fondness for cripples, bastards, and broken things" Tyrion looked at her carefully. "He'll never be a whole man, no more than I, but he has you all. Half my family can hardly stand the sight of me. If you love him now as you did before he was crippled, I will consider the debt paid."

Catelyn finally received Ned's first letter from Maester Luwin and opened it with excited hands. He and their daughters had reached the city safely, but not without incident. Moonmaid, Lady, and Nymeria had been left behind before they entered the gates because the queen and the crown prince hated them so much. The girls and their friends were all furious, but it was all they could do to stop the queen from outright killing their wolves.

Despite the unfortunate turn of their journey, Catelyn felt warmer reading Ned's words. She smiled as she imagined him sitting at some overly ornate desk in the Tower of the Hand, wearing his plain nightshirt and breeches, hair loose around his shoulders, as he penned this message. When she had read the letter twice, she began to write her response. She wrote to him of Bran's awakening and Tyrion's gift, how Young Ned handled acting as Lord of Winterfell in his father's stead, and that Jon was soon to be a father. She mentioned Tyrion Lannister's gift to Bran and how happy he was to be able to ride his pony. As asked by Mya, Catelyn asked her husband about his plans to give lands in the Gift to Jon and Robb, and to change their names.

Catelyn had silently deliberated on whether it was wise to raise their bastard sons in station. Daeron the Good had granted lands to his half-brother Daemon Blackfyre, and was rewarded with treachery, strife, and war. But, she reminded herself, there were many factors leading to the Blackfyre besides Daemon's bastardy. His desire for his half-sister Daenerys, the rivalry between Bloodraven and Bittersteel, the rumors swirling around Queen Naerys and Aemon the Dragonknight, the rampant corruption that festered under the reign of Aegon the Unworthy, the many lords who hated how Daeron had welcomed Dorne into the fold. The North was much calmer and more stable than the realm had been all those years ago.

There would not be enough time for Robb and Jon to claim their new lands before winter came. Farmers had begun to notice the first signs of autumn, and everyone would need to prepare for the final harvest and the beginning of winter. They would spend the winter here, in Winterfell, and this was where Jon's child would spend the first several several years of its life. Perhaps Barth would be good friend to his nephew or niece, close to a big brother.

Ned's reply came several weeks later, and it was longer than Catelyn had expected. Once the Gift was properly settled, it's new lords would be sworn to Winterfell, but pay taxes to the Night's Watch. Lord Commander Mormont approved of the arrangement, for the Watch was desperately low on coin and supplies, but the plan to increase settlement came with some unexpected complications.

First, King Robert wished to host a tourney in Ned's honor despite the crown's heavy debts. He had suggested giving castles to the winners of tourney, melee, and archery contest, which Ned and Catelyn both found absurd. The new Gift lords were meant to guard the North from wildlings, as the Marcher lords guarded the Reach and Stormlands from Dorne. They could not give away valuable land as a prize in a competition! Ned refused outright, but could not keep the rumors spreading. Every landless man in the Seven Kingdoms who could hold a lance, sword, or bow raced to the capital.

Second, when the queen learned of this, she implored Ned to grant some land to one of her cousins. Lannister greed knows no bounds, Catelyn thought with disgust. It wasn't enough that they were the wealthiest house in the kingdom, or that Cersei's son would one day sit on the Iron Throne. Ned wrote that he refused her also, leading to a huge argument between her and the king.

Third, many knights and lordlings had begun swirling around Rena's ladies, including Sansa and Arya despite how young they were. With news of land in the North supposedly available to them, they had gotten it into their heads that Ned brought all these girls south as potential brides for those he chose to be Gift lords. Many had even taken to calling them the Winter Pearls, fine jewels ripe for the taking. Wynafryd in particular had to fend off many insistent suitors, for she was second in line to inherit White Harbor after her father.

Ned had planned to give the land to second and third sons from Northern houses, along with their bastard sons. They could handle the harsh conditions and their loyalty to Winterfell was not in doubt. Breakstone Hall in the mountains would be reserved for Robb, while Queenscrown near the Kingsroad would be reserved for Jon. Moreover, Ned did not think his bannerman would appreciate an influx of southron men into their part of the kingdom. He wanted her input as to how to approach the problem.

He finished by saying that he was excited to become a grandfather and sent Jon and Mya his love. She noticed that he wrote nothing about Jon Arryn or his death, but she hadn't expected him to. Such information was so precious to trust to a bird. After Catelyn finished the letter and read it a second time, she went to bed, intending to talk it over with the rest of the family the next morning while they all broke their fast in the great hall.

"Uncle Ned never promised anyone land," Robb scowled. "If they think he has, that's their mistake, not his problem."

"I think it matters less what he said, and more what they think he said," Elle disagreed.

Catelyn noted, "If he doesn't give out any land, they'll think he broke a promise."

"Who cares what a bunch of pompous lordlings think?" Young Ned scoffed.

"They're important subjects of the realm," Elle said, "Lord Ned is the second most powerful man in the kingdom, but the courtiers can make his job very difficult if he displeases them too greatly."

"But what can he do?" Mya asked. "Surely he can't just give away land to anyone who wants some?"

"I'm surprised so many are even interested. The Gift is tough land," Young Ned said.

"Land is land," Catelyn told him, "Especially for men who've never had it."

"He could just give a piece of land to a single person at the tourney," Jon suggested. "Instead of thinking he lied or tricked them, they'll think the singers and gossipmongers exaggerated. Which is true."

"Perhaps, but how would he decide who to give it to?" Catelyn asked. "Relying on a competition will not be feasible. A man may be skilled at arms, but that alone does not make a wise and loyal bannerman."

They all thought for a moment, then Bran piped up, "Father can have Rena pick someone from the tourney to become a Gift lord. She's very smart and I'm sure she'd pick someone good."

That gave Catelyn an idea. "He can announce that the land will go to whoever Rena declares her favorite, though it will actually be someone he himself felt was worthy. She's already betrothed, so that will avoid the awkwardness of someone expecting an offer of her hand."

"Rena will be a mouthpiece, then? It could work," Robb considered.

"If this works as you say, do you think that will stop men from pursuing the girls?" Mya asked.

"Doubtful, but they may get the message that the girls were not brought to King's Landing just for them." Catelyn noted. "And it's not such a bad thing that men are interested in them. If their fathers approve, they might make good matches in the south."

"Somehow I can't imagine the Foxkiller as a southron lady," Jon joked.

**Author's Note:**

> I started re-writing 'Weary Mother' just as a way to flex my writing my skills while I worked on 'The Golden Swan' and didn't originally plan to publish it, but it took on a life of it's own. So I'm changing and expanding the story. 'The Golden Swan' is still my top priority at the moment, so do not expect regular updates to this story until that one is finished. Thanks for reading!


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